


Rhinestone Eyes

by hamartiaaaa



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Study, Childhood Trauma, Dissociation, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Tendou Satori-centric, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 29,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26537551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamartiaaaa/pseuds/hamartiaaaa
Summary: "His tears are just as hot as the skin they trail down. It's too hot in here; he thinks they might burn alive. He tries to say as much, but nothing comes out."
Relationships: Tendou Satori & Ushijima Wakatoshi, Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 81
Kudos: 216





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> fair warning, i like funky and loopy writing. you'll see what i mean.
> 
> if something doesn't make sense, maybe it will in the future. or not. life is funny that way.
> 
> \--
> 
> first bit is pretty short, just hold up

"Everything is temporary," she murmurs.

He exhales deeply. The air is thick with smoke- if he isn't careful he might just choke on it. He tips his head back onto her shoulder as she presses flush against his back and snakes her arms around his chest. His legs are thrown out in front of him. If he closes his eyes he can almost pretend he's small enough for this to be alright. It's _supposed_ to be comforting, but there's something heavy in his stomach ( and a disquieting air about the chapped lips brushing against his ear ). Her breath is hot but he's sure his skin is hotter, crawling, searing straight from his bones. Something in him wants to break away. He sucks in a breath.

She huffs a laugh, lifts a hand to carress his jaw, and presses her forehead to the side of his head. "This was just one of those things," she says.

He thought it might be different this time.

His tears are just as hot as the skin they trail down. It's too hot in here; he thinks they might burn alive. He tries to say as much, but nothing comes out. Instead, he curls in on himself. His shoulders shake.

"But not us."

Her lips brush just above his brow, then plant more firmly against his temple. He supposes she's right. Isn't she always?

"Never us, Satori."

He swallows, nods stiffly-- he's desperate, but he doesn't known what for. He feels her smile against the skin of his brow, dampened with perspiration.


	2. Chapter 2

"The satori yokai are beastly things," a boy states, matter-of-factly. "Gangly, spindly, spidery, terrible things."

If he'd bothered to look up, he'd be in time to watch as his peer's mouth tugs into a sort of grimace. Instead Satori continues to prod with one finger at the stones in front of him, while doing his best to ignore the shadows that drape across his back like a blanket.

"They steal children away," a softer voice chimes. "Bad and good. They eat their faces."

"Looks like one, he does," a third quips.

"Gonna eat us, Satori?"

The girl shuffles, he tries to ignore the splotchy pink of her shoes dancing at the edge of his vision.

"You shouldn't call him that," she says. "Mama says it's impolite. He might get mad, then he really will eat us."

The first snorts. "What does a monster care about being polite?"

Satori turns one of the rocks onto its back and tries to engross himself into the little world that was tucked beneath it.

"It's no fun when he just ignores us," the first boy huffs. He watches his heel dig into the dirt and reaches forward, with the intent of prodding another rock over, but the boy's ankle shifts and he's forced to lurch back before his foot can connect with his hand. It digs instead into the muddy colony he's just unearthed. He blinks at it, wide eyed.

"What was _that_?" The girl breathes. Something in her voice prompts him to finally look up; his first thought is that her face is as soft as her voice.

"Don't you know?" The second says. "Satori can read minds. I bet he saw it coming before you even did it. He's a monster, didn't you believe us?"

His second thought is, by the part of her lips and her wide eyes, that she looks terrified.

* * *

That night he asks his mother why she named him for a monster and her hands frame his face, squeeze his cheeks, so tightly it hurts.

Tendou is a divine path, she tells him. No monster can bare such a light. Satori is to be enlightened. To see within oneself and others. To see and make sense of what no one else can.

Satori is to be all-knowing.

His lip quivers. Satori can read minds.

He pulls with a little more fervor at the hands clutching him, but they dig deeper. His breath hitches. It hurts. His eyes water. They curl in his hair, fist in his shirt. She wants to engrain her words in the marrow of his bones.

"Don't cry," she hushes. "It isn't worth crying over. You're my son. You aren't a monster, I know better. We know better."

* * *

If he could have one superpower, he'd be invisible. Think of the contrast!

Once he stood and prodded at the corner of his mouth as he stared at his reflection in a puddle, lips etched upward despite the flat of his eyes. His head's on fire- "It practically burns to look at, Satori-chan." He's on fire- wants to frown but comes off disinterested at best, he's-

* * *

"Satori yokai can't play on human teams."

Their shoes squeak against the gymnasium floor. It's grating.

"Looks like one. Looks like a monster."

Douse the flames.

He's fanciful, maybe. Can't help it, doesn't know any other way to be.

He palms at his eyes.

* * *

Thump. Thump. Thump.

* * *

His lips curl into a smile- he can't help it. His palms are stinging. The boy looks up at him ( the net dices him up nicely ), and his first thought is that he isn't as tough as he makes out to be. His second thought is that he looks terrified.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He knows that this year will be like every other, so he resigns himself to it."

"I-I got in!"

Satori winces, almost, the sound of his voice just on the wrong side of grating to his own ears. She blinks at him and he sucks in a breath, flexes his fingers- he's holding the letter so tight he's surprised it hasn't torn. It's definitely crinkled. Her face contorts- _What was he expecting? What_ \- he lowers it entirely.

A pin could drop and it'd wake up the entire street.

"Which one?" She manages, brows creased.

"Well-" He clears his throat. "All of them- er- all the ones I applied to. I just-"

"You're going to leave me, aren't you?"

"It's-"

"You always leave me."

"I-"

"I get it," she chokes. "It's easier- It- It's better for you when I'm not around. You need more than me, and-"

He swallows thickly. "Stop," he croaks. _Just be happy for me._

"You should go. I think-"

It's a good school. A fresh start. He botched the last one-

"It'll be good for you." Her hands settle on his face, slip to his shoulders. "If you want to leave- If you need to let me go- I'm letting you go."

* * *

She crosses her arms across her chest. He knows the lecture is coming, chooses to ignore the brewing storm in favor of the sting of his palms. The rush of his breath as he jumps. The liquid fire beneath his skin.

"Tendou."

Again. Again. Again.

"You can't keep scoring on your hunches--"

" _Why not?_ " He argues. He knows it's fruitless, can't help but push anyway. "I've scored tons of points on--"

"You can't rely on a hunch." She's steadfast, doesn't balk at his gaze, but he leans in anyway. It's more than a hunch. Something rooted deep in the marrow of his bones. "Everyone has limitations."

"What's this all for if it isn't fun?"

There's no point in waiting for a reply, because he knows she won't be swayed, so he turns on his heel instead.

* * *

"That Tendou's creepy, huh?"

"I can't get a read on him."

"Yeah, well--"

* * *

He eats dinner alone for the third night in a row-- if you can call it dinner, anyway. His stomach churns at the sight of the empty seat beside him, and suddenly he isn't so hungry anymore.

* * *

"I could stay."

She shakes her head. "You want to go."

He does. He hates himself for it. His hands shake as he fiddles with his tie ( it doesn't matter much anyway, he knows he looks terrible ).

"I could be better." _Don't leave me like this._ "We can start over."

Her hands flex against the steering wheel. "Everything is temporary."

"Not us," he hisses. "Never us."

" _Satori_."

* * *

They don't say their goodbyes. She doesn't even look back.

* * *

One look at his roommate and he knows this year will be like every other- the disappointed twitch of their lip, the flit of their gaze across and away- so he resigns himself to it. Pulling himself onto the top bunk and collapsing back onto it, he sighs heavily.

"Shi-ra-to-ri-za-wa."

Nothing. He sighs, again, considerably louder.

"Wa-za-ri-to-ra-shi."

A snicker.

His roommate follows suit and falls onto the bottom bunk with a quiet " _oomph_."

"Weirdo," he breathes.

"Tendou," Satori corrects.

"Semi," the boy offers.

"Semisemi?"

" _No_."

"Alright," he hums noncommitally. "Have it your way, Semisemi."

Semi sighs, a more exasperated version of his own dramatics.

"You're insufferable," he says. "I can feel it already."

Satori considers this, tilting his head to the side so that he's facing the wall.

"Yeah."

"So," the young boy continues, evidently resigned to it all. "Volleyball. You play?"

"Yes."

"I do, too."

He doesn't bother telling him that he could gather from the ball tucked over by his things. Instead he huffs, splaying his palm against the blanket beneath him to get a feel for its coarseness, and manages a mildly interested, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Semi echoes. "Setter. I'll be on the starting lineup sooner rather than later, I feel it. What about you?"

It's all bland, he thinks. The cream blazers and the bare cream walls. If he bothered to reach up, stretch his fingers, he's sure he'd graze the ceiling.

"Middle blocker," he says.

"Yeah?" The boy questions. There's a lilt to his voice that gives Satori pause. "Any good?"

"Are you?"

"Yes. Well- of course, I can only be better. I will be better. You didn't answer my question. I'm sure you're good, too."

He snorts. "No you aren't."

"Of course I am," Semi argues, unperturbed. "You wouldn't be here if you weren't any good."

"I don't know about good," he manages. "Different, I suppose."

"Different is good."

"Not always."

A beat of silence passes- one too charged for his liking. He's a second away from peering over the edge of the bunk when he's interrupted by a violent lurch.

"Hey!" He yelps.

Semi kicks the underside of his mattress once more for good measure.

"Stop being such a pessimist!" He huffs. "How are you supposed to score us any points at all if you always think you're gonna lose?"

After a few moments, relatively assured that he's not going to be attacked, Satori lets his head drop back onto his pillow and elects to keep his mouth shut.

"We've got our first practice after lunch," Semi continues. "Er- I guess it'll be more like an, uh- orientation? Yeah? But anyway... Lunch."

Fiddling with his tie, Satori squints at the ceiling.

" _Oi_!" The boy barks- and he parts his lips in time for another solid kick to his back. "Tendou! Will you be joining me or not?"

"You didn't even ask!" He sputters, indignantly. "Stop kicking me!"

Semi does not, in fact, stop kicking him. There's one more solid hit before he speaks again. For the life of him, he can't figure out why he's even bothering.

"Just answer the question, you bastard."

"You're not very nice!" He argues, imagining the boy's face contorting with displeasure. "I want a refund."

"I didn't come with a receipt! Yes or no?"

" _Fine_!"

Semi huffs, something sounding distinctly relieved- maybe even satisfied. It occurs to him then that he's new, too ( and of course he is, it's not like he didn't really know ), and that maybe he'd been nervous to eat alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm excited for this story to explore a lot of delicate aspects of life, i think it's got a lot of potential to stick fingers in fractures you wouldn't expect
> 
> guess this is my way of saying that so long i have motivation, this'll probably be a long one


	4. Chapter 4

Admittedly, Satori's first impression of him is... lackluster, to say the least. They stand nearly shoulder to shoulder, head to head ( but if he stood straight, and if you count the hair, he's surely got him beat ). He's sort-of plain- at least in the face department- if not for the carved leanness of his limbs. Muted green hair that reminds him so vividly of an olive he can taste it, and a set of heavyset eyes to match.

He's standing tall, like he's supposed to be proud, eyes fixed on the back wall of the gymnasium like they're glued, a complete juxtaposition to the slump of his shoulders and lilt of his head. Satori knows he's staring- hell, they're standing _right beside each other_ \- but he's never been one to leave well enough alone, so he doesn't stop.

The boy doesn't tell him to, either. In fact, he's certain that his head's so wrapped in his own little world that nobody else exists. If he wasn't trying so hard to stand stock still, his shoulders would be trembling with the weight of his self-imposed responsibilities. He might even look to his left and catch Satori blatantly staring like he's grown three heads and a tail, and have the sense to be abashed. He mulls these observations over, fingers twitching with the urge to prod and wanting to say he knows the type, but knowing that really he's just guessing.

_Can't rely on just hunches_.

Something- someone ( Semi, probably )- jostles his arm and he blinks. Someone else has begun talking- he knows this because the boy's gaze has flickered off toward the right with a sort of rapt attention he could never manage to muster. Another jostle tells him it's time to rouse from whatever reprieve he's sunk under.

* * *

It's boring. He hadn't paid enough attention to their shoddy welcoming ceremony/debriefing to catch any names ( with the exception of his own ), and they aren't even playing. His palms are itching to squeeze something between them, knock something down. Knocking his head back against the wall and groaning, Satori wishes he was back in the dorms, tucked under his coarse blanket with his laptop going.

Semi sits to his left, curiously reluctant to leave his side despite the promise of better conversation amongst their peers. Not that he seems to be hindering anything, if the constant stream of chatter and accompanying flailing is anything to go by.

Satori sweeps his gaze across the gym. Maybe if the game had been anything more than that- a _game,_ an escape- to him, he might've found himself enchanted by the motions of the third years or moved by the determination of the seconds. Every hit, every block, every serve and recieve made with the intent of perfection.

What's the point of all this if it isn't fun?

His head lilts to the right, and olive-head sits a little ways off, crisscross and ramrod straight with his hands in his lap, blinking at him like he hasn't a care in the world. His first thought is that, somewhere between introductions and designating the pecking order, the boy has lost his nerves. Instead of being rattled to his core, he's now settled for biding his time. The second is that they've been staring at each other for way longer than what is considered the norm.

Olive-head doesn't seem to care, only continues to maintain eye contact to an extent where Satori isn't sure he's really seeing him ( and he doesn't like to be unsure about things, he has _faith_ in his instincts, which is why he has a tendency to act before he thinks things through ). It isn't an invitation to sidle up and speak, not even idle curiosity- he's just observing, slotting pieces together. This is his life now, he's taking stock of everyone in it, assessing their worth.

He's still sort-of plain looking, Satori thinks, and he isn't fond of people that make book-by-the-cover judgements that have the potential to impact the expanse of his highschool journey, but he lets him stare ( and olive-head lets him stare back ).

* * *

Classes are not what he's used to. It's not that he's stupid, or that they're particularly hard, there's just considerably more work and less direction. Something about time management and getting a feel for personal responsibility.

Back on his bunk he sniffs, arms extended, idly flipping through the pages of an English book but not paying enough attention to pick out any words. On the bunk below, Semi lets out a groan more akin to a whimper. The bed frame jostles a bit as the boy supposedly throws himself back onto it.

"How good are you at English? We might as well study together."

'I'm alright,' he wants to say, but instead just blurts, "Why do you keep talking to me?" And then, in an effort to cover up that spectacular display of insecurity, "Oh, eh- Not too bad, why?"

"What?" The boy questions. "You're my friend, and my roommate, why wouldn't I talk to you?"

"What?"

" _What?_ " Semi demands, incredulously. 

"We're friends?" He snorts.

" _Why wouldn't we be friends?!_ "

Satori blinks at the pages of his book again, a beat too long, before snapping it shut and lurching himself to the side. He leans precariously over the bunk's railing, eyes narrowed and almost surprised to see Semi glaring back with a similar expression.

"We've known each other for less than a day," he points out.

The boy's lip curls disdainfully. "So?"

_So?_

"You want to be my friend?" He questions, skeptically. "I thought I was insufferable?"

"That was just a jab for your dumb nickname!" Semi argues, scrambling to prop himself up against his elbows. Maybe it's something to do with the blood rushing to his head, but his roommate's expression seems to shift into something he can't quite place. "Of course I want to be your friend! We'll be spending all year together, won't we?"

Satori's beginning to think this kid has a skewed notion of friendship, or that maybe he's just desperate to not be alone- or that he's hoping he's smart, and that if he gets on his good side he can help him study or mooch off his work.

"I guess that makes sense," he manages, thoughtfully, pulling himself back into a sitting position.

"What?"

Satori blinks. "Huh?"

The bed lurches as Semi reaches up and curls his hand around the bar, tugging as he gathers himself to his feet. Considerably rumpled and decidedly unimpressed, the boy looks up at him with furrowed brows.

"What ' _makes sense_ '?" He questions, hotly. "You want to be my friend, don't you?"

"What?" He huffs.

"Shut up!" Semi bites. "You're my friend!"

" _What?_ "

" _Shut up!_ Are you good at English or not?"

" _I guess!_ "

A beat passes, then all at once Semi deflates and tilts back with a huff of relief. Satori parts his lips, more confused than he's ever been in his life, but before he can say anything Semi beats him to the punch.

"Good," he sighs. "Because I'm not."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olive-head's got a one track mind, it seems.

"Oh, look."

"Sheesh."

"He's creepy."

Satori presses his thumbs into the sockets of his eyes in a pathetic effort to relieve the building pressure. It's nothing new, if anything it's expected, he'd just hoped that this time around it'd be easier to ignore.

"Think he dyes is hair like that?"

( He doesn't, if the pictures strewn about his house are anything to go by, his father's hair is just as stark. )

"Probably, look at him. It's begging for attention."

Foregoing the eye-gouging method, he drops his hands to the desk and slouches farther into his seat.

* * *

They don't speak until the third official practice, a skirmish between the first and third years with the second years split amongst them both. He gets the feel that it's supposed to be an eye opener as much as a gauge of their abilities individually and as a whole. Satori's just excited by the thought of getting his hands on something. He doesn't care if they win, especially not if he manages to block one of their spikes.

He tucks his hands under his armpits to keep from fidgeting and pries his gaze away from the opposing third years in favor of getting a feel of his own team. He still doesn't know their names ( with the exception of Semi, of course ). Doesn't even know what parts they're aiming to play ( again, Semi is the exception, as usual ).

He just hopes they won't get in his way. That they're smart enough to step aside when he catches that glint in his eye.

* * *

They are.

He tugs on the jersey of the mousey kid to his right, urges with a hiss to go straight, and at the last second snaps up and pivots to the left.

There's no explaining the tug in his gut. No technique. Step here- no, step _there_. Hold it. Leap now, no time to hesitate. Have faith. His body knows where to be, knows where the ball will be before even the spiker does. The problem is how to get it where it _should_ be. He's done it dozens of times before, but the instant the ball touches the outer fingers of his right hand and makes no show of falling for the left he knows he's screwed.

To put it lightly, the third years are a lot stronger than he's used to. It's close to the net, he has every intention of driving it down, and he gets it, he almost always does ( _she'd_ say that the distinction of _almost_ matters, but it doesn't to him ), but it doesn't hit his palm. In blocking, your hands are always tilted slightly inward as they're pushed out in hopes of keeping it in your control. So while the smack of the ball is satisfying, the stinging ( and burning ) of his hand and shoulder is anything but.

He falls back onto the court with a hiss, muttering vague obscenities under his breath and cradling his hand to his chest as he sneers at the wide-eyed young man perched on his haunches- his timing could've been better. His height needs to improve. He almost doesn't realize the court had fallen silent until a hand clasps his shoulder, then everything erupts.

He'd expected this, too. His style, if you can call it one, has always been pegged as unsightly. At this point he's beyond caring.

"What the hell was that?"

"Language!"

( "Language? What about him?!" )

"Was that a fluke?"

The hand on his shoulder moves up to squeeze at the base of his throat. His eyes find the boy before his head turns, a sloppy mildly-pained smile lilting his lips. Semi grins up at him.

"What?" He asks.

"Nothing," he says. Satori's fighting the urge to shrink beneath the weight of his grin. "Of course you're good."

* * *

"What was it?"

Eyes shut, thunking his head against the wall behind him ( once, twice ), he picks lamely at the splint wrapped around his finger. He'd sprained it. Had to sit out the rest of the game ( well, he missed most of it anyway- it's not like it lasted long, that was the point ). Has to sit out the next few days. Is one block worth all the hastle? He came here to have fun. He doesn't feel like he really was good.

"Tendou."

_Ah_.

Satori blinks, wills himself into focus and leverages his gaze. Olive-head stares back at him, volleyball squished between his palms, with the same intensity they'd held a few days prior during their introduction. His passion is blatant, almost stifling even while it's tucked beneath his bland expression.

"I apologize," Olive-head says, inclining his head. "I did not introduce myself. I am Ushijima Wakatoshi."

Satori blinks again.

"Sounds fancy," he blurts. "I mean- Tendou. Satori. That's my name."

Ushijima nods once, almost impatiently. "I know. What was it?"

"Uh." Maybe if his brain wasn't scrambling he'd be able to piece together whatever he's being asked, but to be frank having the full intensity of Olive-head's gaze on him has him a little off kilter. "What is what?" He manages. The only thing he can come up with is his injury. "My- My hand? I, uh, sprained it. My timing was off, it bent my-"

"It wasn't. You would've made it, he compromised with more force when he realized you'd be there. I believe he intended to break through."

"Oh. Sure."

"I meant the block," Ushijima supplies, eventually. "What was it?"

"Ah." Satori grins sheepishly, picking again at his splint. "It was a hunch."

"A hunch."

"Yeah," he mumbles. "Just a feeling."

"Do you have them often?"

"What?"

"Hunches," Ushijima amends. Satori watches his brows furrow and has the fleeting urge to poke between them- which he quells almost as quickly by averting his gaze. "It wasn't just a fluke?"

For lack of any better explanation, he agrees. "I do. Get them often, I mean. I get it- it's, uh, unconventional-"

"It is."

He wrinkles his nose.

"Yeah. Risky, I guess."

"Keep doing it."

Satori looks up again. "Huh?"

Ushijima brings his shoulders back in an effort to stand somehow straighter than he already had been, as if his intensity will manifest to emphasize his previous statement.

"Keep doing it," he parrots. "It is unconventional, but there is potential. Good leverage in unpredictability. You blocked the spike."

"I blocked one spike," he points out. "Barely, at that."

"That is one more than the rest of us."

"I'm selfish," he blurts. He's doing a lot of that, lately. "I block them because I like to. Not for the team."

The green haired boy nods once again, as if that little outburst made any sort of sense, and says, "Start there. Make it for both."

"That's easier said than done," he points out, a little irritably. "Don't you need to shower? Get changed?"

"Most things are." Ushijima shifts on his feet, though not out of any apparent discomfort, fully intending to ignore the change in topic. "We will go to Nationals," he states. "That is a given."

"Is it?" He questions, blandly.

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

The boy inclines his head as if it were obvious. "I have seen you play."

" _Once_. I did one thing."

"Yes. And you have potential. Most of us here do."

"It takes more than just potential," he argues, "to make it all the way."

Ushijima considers this. "Yes, we have established that. There is room to improve. Block for the team, they will have you."

He huffs, but begrudgingly concedes. "They might have me if I can make a difference, but they won't want me."

The boy narrows his eyes. "Why?"

Satori snorts. "Stop talking down on me," he interjects lamely, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Go shower, Ushijima-kun, you smell."

Thankfully, after a moment of deliberation, Olive-head seems to deem this a reasonable request. What Satori isn't expecting is the light bow of his head to signify the conversation's close before he turns on his heel and takes his leave.

* * *

By the end of the week, Satori confirms that Semi's definition of friendship is largely skewed. He doesn't think he's that good of a friend. They eat together, they study together, they play ( well, for the moment he observes while the other plays ) volleyball together. They get along well enough, but there's none of that amicable boisterousness in the halls or much more than the occasional bump of shoulders as they walk together, but if the boy minds he hasn't said anytning.

He doesn't particularly mind the tufts of hair that fall in his eyes after he washes the gel out at the end of the day, but Semi has taken a liking to pinning them back with the sparkly hair clips he keeps in a little case on his desk. The first time, he'd been confused and maybe a little off-put, because he'd never seen anyone that wasn't a girl wearing them, but the other boy had only smiled and shrugged.

"Why can't boys be pretty, too?" He'd asked. "If you don't want to, that's alright."

The waver of his smile betrayed his nervousness, however, and for some reason that hadn't sat well with him, so he'd agreed. After all, in the privacy of their own room and just between the two of them, there was really nothing to worry about.

He didn't think they looked that good on him, but Semi's reassured grin quelled any complaints he might've voiced. Besides that, Satori supposed he was right. The boy had these sparkly pink ones at the temple on one side that he'd asked for his help putting in. Maybe they were a little crooked ( Semi reassured him that he'd get better at it with practice, like most things, but didn't bother fixing it himself ), but in the privacy of his own mind he could admit that they actually _did_ make him look sort-of pretty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> semi; boys can be pretty because i say so
> 
> tendou; yeah, that's fair


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When things are going wrong but not really but also damn and ugh.

He calls his mother every day. She doesn't pick up, but the thought of going back to his dorm so soon after skipping out to make the call makes his stomach churn. In the end he sits in the stairwell and mutters into the reciever about his day like it might mean something to someone. When he runs out of things to say, he snaps his phone shut and closes his eyes.

Five more minutes, maybe she'll call back.

* * *

It isn't until the end of their second week, as he's jabbing petulantly at his food and making a show of taking moderately sized bites to appease Semi whenever he glances his way, that Satori realizes something is off. First he spares a glance in his friend's direction, then leverages it toward _his_ friend Ohira, and finally settles on Soekawa- the latter of which blinks stupidly at him. It's so suddenly obvious that it makes his mouth go dry. He puts his utensils aside. If anything, if he was going to notice, he should've done so far sooner. Any of them should've.

He must make a face, because Soekawa clears his throat and pointedly looks away. Semi stirs to his left.

"Where's Ushijima?" He asks, blandly.

The three boys turn to look at him nearly all at once.

Semi purses his lips, then frowns.

"Oh," Ohira murmurs.

Soekawa has the modesty to look bothered by the observation.

"None of you invited him to sit with us?"

"He's probably sitting with some classmates," says Semi, shrugging.

Satori wrinkles his nose. "He's got a bigger stake in the game than all of us, and we're sitting here. Together. Why wouldn't he be here?"

"He'd probably talk our ear off about it," sighs Ohira, but then he frowns and turns his face down toward his tray. "Do you really think he's sitting alone?"

Satori doesn't think the first half of Ohira's interjection is right, anyway. He's had a lot of time to observe the team, and while Ushijima is certainly a force of nature ( an utter downpour of persistence and pride ) he definitely isn't one to babble ceaselessly. Ushijima's the "speak when you're spoken to" type, whether he realizes it or not. Part of him wonders how they'd come to the decision to drag him here in Olive-head's place. It somehow feels lopsided.

"You think he hasn't been?" He asks, flexing his fingers. "It's not like him to come up to anybody, and nobody goes up to him. You all think he's intimidating." Soekawa wrinkles his nose, looking like he wants to argue, and Ohira frowns, but neither say anything. "I'm sure everyone else does too."

"Its been two weeks," Ohira interjects with a wince.

Semi kicks at his ankle lightly. "Maybe he likes eating alone," he offers. It feels more like a reassurance to himself than anything.

Satori frowns, though he's sure it comes off as more of a grimace than anything. The ashen-haired boy at his side has the decency to look at least a little bit remorseful.

"Finish up," his roommate says. "Dinner's almost over."

* * *

He clicks his phone shut, slides it into the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulls his knees up to his chest. What he really wants is to chuck the damn thing down the flight of stairs.

He doesn't notice he's crying until he reaches up to rub his eyes, but once he does he can't bring himself to stop.

* * *

He doesn't bother getting out of bed the next morning, despite Semi's threats and muttering. It's Saturday, he's tired, and he doesn't feel like going through the motions for show. He can worry about anything and everything tomorrow.

Most of that day is spent watching the sun crawl along the far wall and periodically checking his phone.

Nothing.

He clicks it shut. Tries to read the writing on the notebook across the room from his perch. Predictably, it's too far. Opens it again.

Nothing.

He clicks it shut.

Opens it again.

Scrolls through his contacts. Hovers above the call button.

He clicks it shut.

_This is stupid_. It's eleven in the morning and he's done nothing but wallow over nothing. Hasn't even brushed his teeth. Half of him wants to get up and do something, but the other half convinces him to curl up and tuck his phone to his chest. He runs a hand through his hair and huffs.

* * *

He isn't sure what time it is when Semi returns, just that the room is dim and staring at the wall is beginning to strain his eyes. He stopped checking his phone a while ago, figured there was no point when it would ring loud enough to get his attention anyway. The boy stands on the edge of his bed, arms hooked over the railings of the bunk to keep him steady. His back is turned, but through the fabric of his shirt he can feel the press of Semi's hand between his shoulders.

"I don't know what's going on," the boy says, despairingly. "Is it a deadline? Are you homesick? Worried about practice?"

"I'm fine," he mumbles, mostly because he doesn't know what else there is to say. "It's nothing."

Semi is silent for a moment, but his hand creeps a little higher, just to pause at the nape of his neck. It's weird, makes him feel almost sick, but he can't tell if it's just because he isn't her, or if it's because when he thinks about it he really doesn't mind that it's not.

"Okay," the boy allows. "But it's almost dinner. You haven't left bed at all, I bet you're hungry."

"I'm not."

"You are," he argues. "You just haven't noticed yet. C'mon, we can get ice cream or something."

"I don't want to," he grumbles.

Semi clicks his tongue, and in his mind he can see the disgruntled expression that accompanies it. "You're a liar! You love ice cream, you talk about missing it all the time. We'll go for a walk and I'll pay for it, let's go."

* * *

Satori clicks his phone open, then shuts again, and if Semi notices he doesn't comment on it. He chances a glance between licks of his ice cream- "Just chocolate?" Semi had questioned, but he'd looked amused for some indiscernible reason. Satori just had only shrugged, quirked his lips in a tired smile. "It's my favorite. It's a classic." Now, the boy's brows are furrowed, even as he stares down at his own treat, like he's thinking hard.

"Semisemi," he tries, tentatively. "Are you-"

"Are you thinking about dropping out?" The boy blurts. "Transferring?"

"What?" _What?_ "No. Why-"

" _Shit_ ," Semi huffs, immediately deflating. "Good. I thought- I dunno."

Satori lilts his head. "Thought what?"

"I have ears!" He exclaims. "People talk, all the time, and they aren't quiet about it ever! And I tell them to shut up when I can, but-"

"Woah!" Eyes wide and waving his free hand to cut the other off, Satori turns and sits a little straighter. Semi looks two parts like he wants to continue his little spiel and begrudgingly grateful that he was stopped. "Don't be stupid," he huffs. "That's nothing new! I got over that stuff a long time ago."

Sort of, he thinks, turning back to his ice cream. Not really. He deals with it, somehow.

"Stop talking back to them," he adds as an afterthought. "I don't know why you would in the first place. It'll make them snark at you, too."

"Tendou," the boy says, firmly. "You're my friend."

He groans. "This again? I know!"

"You don't have to sound so miserable about it!"

"I'm not!" He argues. "You're just pushy! And mean!"

"I'm not mean or pushy!" Semi snaps, but the thwap against his free arm might attest otherwise. "You're dumb!"

"Hitting and name calling is mean!" Satori interjects with a whine. "If I drop my ice cream, you're buying me another one!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Semi; we are friends >:(
> 
> tendou; friendship is P A I N


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are complicated, especially when you don't know where they're coming from.

The next morning, Satori takes a chance. He's still tired in a sense he can't really describe, but this time when Semi prompts him out of bed he complies. He showers, brushes his teeth, pulls on some fresh clothes. It's the second day he goes without bothering to style his hair. It's the first day he tells Semi that he won't be joining him for breakfast.

"What?" The boy huffs. "Why not? Don't tell me you're going back to bed."

"I'm not," he promises. "I just have somewhere to be."

"Where?"

"Just go!" He urges. There's no real reason to pull wool over the boy's eyes, but he finds himself tight lipped almost of his own accord. "Ohira and Soekawa are probably waiting, anyway. Don't keep them."

Expectedly Semi frowns, but he doesn't push any harder. He only nods. "Alright. See you later, I guess."

* * *

Satori isn't shy. He has his doubts when engaging with people, though he's never particularly nervous; this shouldn't be an exception, but when he sets his hand on the chair in front of him he finds he's somewhat at a loss for words. Somewhat, because there's a lot of things he could say- not a lot that he wants to, some that he isn't sure he should, and the longer he stands here and stares he feels sort of like he's unraveling.

He realizes it's the first time he's bothered to approach someone of his own volition, there's no set precedent to follow.

He inhales, then sighs, and makes to speak.

"Uhm- Oh, screw this- Er-"

Well, alright. That's something. It certainly gets part of the effect he was looking for, if the quizzical look from the boy in front of him is anything to go by. He snaps his mouth shut, face flushing.

Ushijima blinks at him almost expectantly- or maybe he's unused to Satori's crass blabering and determining whether to never speak to him again. He sucks in another breath, and it has to be nervousness- there's no other word for it- and it bothers him because he's never bothered to worry about anyone but himself before.

"Sorry," he blurts. Then, "Hi."

The olive haired boy inclines his head politely.

"I do not know what you're apologizing for," he admits. "But hello. Did you need something?"

"No," Satori says, as he shakes his head fervently. "Do you- I- Shoot, okay. I was wondering, could I eat with you? I mean- I'd like to. You can say no, it's cool."

Ushijima's questioning expression settles in an instant.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"You don't have breakfast," the boy notes.

"Oh! No, I do," he says. "I, er-" he waves a hand flippantly as he moves to settle himself in he seat he'd staked, and fishes in the pocket of his hoodie to reveal a cup of yogurt. Ushijima blinks at it, even as he waves it about. "I don't eat much."

"That is enough to sustain you?" He questions, skeptically.

"Well- I don't really get hungry until around lunch, and-" he breaks off in favor of averting his gaze and just opening the thing. "You know, you sound kinda like Semisemi, he's always on top of me about eating more."

"Semisemi," the boy murmurs.

"Semi Eita," he clarifies a beat later. "He's my roommate."

"Yes. The aspiring setter. He has a way to go."

Satori's gaze flickers from his spoon to the table, then up to Ushijima's face. If anyone else had said it, it might have come off as patronizing, but his gut tells him the young boy only meant to be upfront about his thoughts. A moment of silent lapses.

He clears his throat. "You- Well, I know your positions are different. You're a wing spiker. You want to be ace- I mean, hell, I've seen you during practice, you probably will be ace. I'm rambling, sorry." He jabs his spoon into his yogurt and settles it there. "I just- you know a lot about volleyball. And Semisemi likes it, he really does want to improve- I just mean to say, he might appreciate any pointers you have. As someone from the outside looking in."

"But," he adds, as an afterthought, "maybe be more... sympathetic about it? Like- Tell him what he does right, and then what he can improve."

"Okay."

Satori blinks. "Okay?"

"I will heed your request," Ushijima confirms, without looking up. "I do have a question, though."

"Huh?"

The boy furrows his brows, as if determining the best way to word his inquiry. "Why do you say it twice?"

"What?"

"Semi," he clarifies. "You say it twice."

"Oh! Yeah, it's a nickname," Satori explains. "He's my friend, I guess. It started off as a joke, but now it's just something I say."

Ushijima ponders this as he bites into his toast. "That is something all friends do?"

"Well," he huffs. "I, uh- I don't really know. I think it's, like, something that depends on the person. It's not, like, a standard."

He watches him nod, once, as he soaks up his words like he's just parted the clouds or divulged a secret worth his weight in gold, but soon enough his expression drops back into his usual neutral one.

"Tendou."

"Huh?" he breathes.

"Breakfast will be over soon, and you seem to have eaten very little. Please finish what you have."

"Right. Okay, yeah."

* * *

_Semisemi \- 8:48am_

Things good?

_Satoriii \- 8:52am_

wym?

_Semisemi \- 8:55am_

Ur thing this morning

_Satoriii \- 8:57am_

o yea, think it was fine

won't be at lunch btw

_Semisemi \- 8:58am_

Why??

_Satoriii \- 9:01am_

got a date www

_Semisemi \- 9:03am_

You have a WHAT?

_Satoriii \- 9:08am_

www jkjk

eatin w/ some1 else today

u at the room?

_Semisemi \- 9:12am_

Idiot. And no. Studying with Ohira.

_Satoriii \- 9:14am_

(￣ヘ￣) gross

gl

gnna watch anime :3

_Semisemi \- 9:18am_

You should study too, you know.

_Satoriii_ _\- 9:24am_

sure www

maybe later w/ u

_Semisemi_ _\- 9:26am_

Sigh. Okay

_Satoriii_ _\- 9:28am_

u love me ww >:3

_Semisemi_ _\- 9:29am_

Bye. Ur weird. H8 u.

Insufferable.

_Satoriii_ _\- 9:31am_

SHEESH

i c how it is

enjoy studying

He flips his phone shut and tries not to dwell on the unreasonable bout of disappointment swelling in his chest, especially since he can't place anything wrong with their little chat. They've only been texting for a few days, anyway.

* * *

"I mean, it's cool- sometimes I only play it for the background noise, or I get so engrossed in admiring the art that I realized I missed an entire episode and have to go back and rewatch it. It's a bit of a hastle but I guess that's my fault, getting fixated on other stuff at the bat of an eye." Satori waves a hand animatedly, at the same time kicking a foot out to brace against the chair across from him and push back. "But anyway," he says, "I guess I'm talking your ear off, which isn't cool. What about you? What do you like to do?"

Ushijima hums, somewhere between nonplussed and amused ( or so he'd like to think ), and says, "Volleyball."

Which, yeah. He could've guessed that.

Satori lets his foot, along with his chair, thunk back to the floor.

"Of course. But what about outside of volleyball?"

"I tend to plants."

"Plants are cool!"

"Yes."

"My mother keeps a rose bush," he says. "Or did, anyway- I don't know about now. It's right outside the kitchen window, so she could look at them while doing the dishes and stuff. Says it reminds her of my father."

Ushijima blinks. "Why?"

"Maybe he was prickly," the boy snorts. "I dunno. I think it's just, y'know." He gestures vaguely at his head.

"Ah," the other muses. "Your hair is natural."

"Of course it's natural!" Satori frowns. "Why does everyone think that I dye it? Who dyes their arms and legs?"

"I-" The boy purses his lips, Satori watches his brow crease and feels the familiar urge to smooth it out. "I hadn't thought of that," he admits, sheepishly. "It is an unusual shade."

"Yeah," he huffs.

"The shade reminds me of Poinsettia," Ushijima murmurs offhandedly. "The shape of its petals, as well, somewhat resemble the way your hair settles when it is up."

_SemiSemi \- 12:33pm_

How's ur date?

"Your hair reminds me of olives," Satori blurts, and then mentally kicks himself. "The green ones, obviously," he adds, seemingly unable to keep his mouth shut. "I like it. Them. Olives."

The spiker regards him with that same nonplussed expression, but he watches as his hand lifts up to touch his hair thoughtfully- and then watches him nod his assent before averting his attention to his drink. Two parts bemused and one part embarrassed, Satori tilts his head back and shifts his arms to cross against his chest.

"Ushi," he chances, blinking up at the dinning hall lights. "Can we eat dinner together, too?"

A beat passes. Two.

Ushijima hums.

"I am not opposed," he decides. "Please finish your lunch."

_Satoriii \- 12:52pm_

good

won't be joining u guys 4 din

_Semisemi \- 12:54pm_

Saw u while I was cleaning off my tray

Could've just told me, btw

Gonna invite him over?

_Satoriii \- 12:57pm_

yea not now tho

mayb tmrrow

see u in a bit he's makin me eat everything on my tray as penance or smth (＃￣ω￣)

_Semisemi \- 12:58pm_

WWW good


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ring ring ring

He will study. Eventually. Right now he's sitting with his back against Semi's bunk, book lying cover up across his thighs and head tilted back onto the mattress. His afformentioned roommate lounges beside him- if you could even call it lounging with the way he's hunched over with one knee drawn up and the other leg kicked out- biting on a nail and occasionally flipping the pages of his own book. He watches the boy's finger inch slowly along as he reads, right to left from the edge toward the binding- western literature is weird like that, and with all the reading he does he'll probably never truly get used to it- and the way his lips unconsciously mimic the words he's sounding out in his mind.

They startle as a phone begins to ring. Semi blinks at him, decidedly unimpressed as his book tumbles off his lap, and he looks away, heat rising to his cheeks, thanking whatever entity that might be listening that he hadn't realized he was staring. He hadn't even meant to.

The phone pauses for a beat before renewing its incessant ringing.

"You gonna get that?" Semi mutters. "It's kinda annoying."

Once realization dawns, Satori is certain he's never moved faster in his life. He's partially aware of Semi's lips moving in his direction, but his attention is fully diverted to clambering up the bunk and tearing his cover aside to rip his phone straight off the charger.

It's open and he's answering before he even fully makes it back down- and fuck, the blanket's stuck to his arm, and- "Hello?" he hates the way his voice breaks- he tears himself free unceremoniously. Stumbles back, slips on the cover of his discarded book, Semi's reaching out, saying something, but he's already turning and rushing for the door- "Satori, good that you answered-" and slamming it shut behind him. Inwardly he hopes they don't get a noise complaint from the room beside them, mostly he doesn't care.

"-do you know where my red coat is?"

Satori pauses mid-stride, so suddenly that he stumbles a bit and ends up swinging a hand out to catch himself on the wall.

"Wh- what?" He huffs. "Um- the one with the, uh-"

"Silver buttons," she says. "It wasn't on the coat rack, I checked the hall closet-"

He wills himself into focus, blinks down at his socked feet and sweatpants. Looks up and forces himself to continue anyway as he rubs at his face ( he can feel it heating up again, can taste the dread of returning to his room to explain himself after that disaster like a particularly sour apple ). His mother continues to chitter in his ear like a bird as he shoves open the door to the stairwell.

"I've been looking for the last half hour, Satori. I'm at a loss- what if someone came in and stole it?" He doesn't bother to mention how unlikely it is for someone to break in and steal her coat but not anything of value, just lowers himself onto the stairs and swallows thickly. "What if-"

"Did you check the far end of the second closet?" He asks. "If it's not there, maybe we folded it up and accidentally tucked it into the bed trunk."

"Ooh, good thinking. See, what would I do without you?"

Satori pulls his knees to his chest, listening idly as she rummages about her things ( or maybe that's just feedback from the call, he can't really tell ) and murmurs about what she's been up to the last few days. He closes his eyes at the hitch of her breath.

"I found it!" She laughs, and he's sure she's beaming, phone tucked between her head and shoulder while she holds the coat outstretched in her dainty hands.

"Good!" He breathes. He can hear the fabric of the coat rustle.

A silence stretches long enough that he's almost sure the line goes dead, but when he checks it, hand trembling, the minutes are ticking by. He pushes it back to his ear, heart smattering against his chest.

"How long has it been?" She asks, finally.

Thoughtlessly, Satori reaches up to rub at his bleary eyes. This time he isn't so surprised to find his hand pull back wet.

"Two weeks," he chokes out. "I've been calling."

"Have you? I didn't notice."

"I'm sorry."

Something rustles again. He can picture her tucking the coat into her chest, under her chin. Wishes he was tucked into her arms instead.

"Are you crying?"

"I-"

"This isn't worth crying about, Satori. You wanted to leave. Wanted to prove you were a big boy, or whatever. I let you."

"I'm sorry," he sobs.

"You hurt me, you know," she gripes. "But it's okay. Everything's temporary, but not us. Never us. Stop crying, baby. You could leave me a million times, as long as you come back I'll forgive you."

He tries, he really does. Wipes furiously at his eyes, sucks in a few shuddering breaths even as his shoulders continue to tremble.

"I miss you," he exhales, shakily.

"Satori."

"I love you."

"You know I love you," she says. "I've always loved you. Stop crying, baby."

"I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't have left. Listen to you- you need me, don't you? It's okay."

"I could-"

"No, you can't."

Blindly, he kicks his foot out at the wall. Takes his lip between his teeth. Part of him feels like he's suffocating- he probably is.

"I-"

"Shh," she murmurs. "You should go back. I'll call you again soon. I love you."

"I love you too."

* * *

He's ten minutes late for dinner. Waited just long enough to know that the room was empty and then rushed to pull on his shoes. Ushijima blinks up at him, almost startled as he drops himself unceremoniously in his seat, but he says nothing as he pulls up the hood of his sweatshirt and buries his face in his arms atop the table. He tries ( and fails ) not to wonder if the boy thought he'd stood him up. Whether he came to peace with that thought ( or whether he even cared in the first place ).

His phone vibrates once. He doesn't bother picking it up to check the awaiting message.

His head hurts. All he wants to do is curl up and sleep- he would've, if he wasn't avoiding his room. In the back of his mind, the rational part of him disputes that there's nothing to avoid. Eyes screwed tightly shut, he tries ( and fails ) to tune into the conversations of the students around him.

"Tendou."

"Not hungry," he mutters.

"Tendou-san."

At that, he shifts to peer over his arms. Ushijima frowns down at him ( but not at him, his gut says ), brows drawn as if he's trying to piece together a puzzle.

Satori gives in, stretches an arm outward.

Pokes Ushijima between his brows.

The expression falls straight from the boy's face, swept under the barest hint of surprise, but he remains stock still with his food halfway to his parted lips. Satori watches them press firmly shut before flickering his gaze back up to meet his eyes. Somehow, he's not off-put when he finds the other staring instead at his tray.

"I think we're gonna be best friends," he says, unprompted. "What do you think?"

There's no real reason for him to believe that they'll be anything more than amicable teammates- especially since all Ushijima does is blink, slowly, before he parts his lips- but maybe it says something that he doesn't pull away. If anything it might just be wishful thinking, or maybe he's subconsciously trying to prepare for when Semi decides he's not worth it and burns their bridge to the ground.

"Have dinner," the boy says, after a moment. "You do not eat well enough to sustain yourself on or off the court."

Satori huffs, but he pulls his hand back so he can rest his chin on his arms instead.

His phone vibrates again. Once, twice more, heavy in his pocket like a stone, but like before he makes no move to check it.

"Okay," he sighs, jutting out his bottom lip petulantly. "In a bit. But I'm really not that hungry, so don't get mad at me if I can't eat it all."

"I won't."

* * *

Satori returns to his dorm late enough that Semi is already curled up and twisted in his blanket with his face squished against the pillow, lips barely parted and fast asleep. They haven't known each other that long, if you think about it, so maybe he's over stepping when he bends down to pick the phone from his limp hand and set it on the charger.

He's definitely over stepping when he reaches down to tuck a strand of hair back from his face.

* * *

_ Semisemi_ \- _4:47pm_

Is everything alright? You blew out of here like a tornado.

_Semisemi_ _\- 5:58pm_

I saw you at dinner. I'm not upset or anything! I was just worried. I'm glad you ate, though.

I'll see you in a bit, yeah? We don't gotta talk about it. It's cool. I cleaned up!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> google: how to manage life? what's up with people? what are these feelings inside me?

They don't talk about it.

Classes are fine.

* * *

He does eventually invite Ushijima to their table, even if he does draw it out for three entire days just because ( and yeah, Ushijima agrees- or, well, as much as his usual "I am not opposed," counts as agreeing ). He doesn't expect the boy to occupy the seat to his right, but he doesn't object to it either. Eventually, though, he switches with Semi to sit on his left- only because their elbows kept knocking together.

* * *

Practice sort-a kind-a sucks. It's grueling. He might actually die. He's here to have fun, not run a million miles a day and serve until his arm literally detatches- but he guesses, in the end, it's what he signed up for.

Ushijima stops him sometimes in the locker room to have cryptic conversations that amuse him at first but then start to grate on his nerves.

"Have you decided?"

"What?"

"To block for the team."

"No?"

"Okay."

If Ushijima is a force of nature- and he is; even unpolished his spike is a clap of thunder, and the way his sneakers hit the floor as he lands, the way the breath heaves from his lungs, give the impression of waves crashing against a rocky shore- then Satori is something otherworldly. Unnatural. Aberrant. Freakish. Always lilting to one side or the other- he moves one way and then turns at the drop of a dime with no rhyme or reason, so quickly that he nearly loses balance and almost sprains his ankle ( and Semi reaches for him that time with a concerned shout, but his head's too far in the clouds and he's already halfway across the court before the boy's fingers can latch onto his shirt ).

He plays harder than he practices, and he plays well ( or he likes to think he does, anyway )- but then again, these skirmishes technically are practice. If he thinks too hard about it, he can only conclude that he's playing himself.

While he's willing to admit that stepping foot onto a court for a real game would ultimately be more satisfying, he's content to just be able to play at all. Besides that, every spike he kills seems to wedge a stake father between him and his supposed teammates. The second years sneer with thinly veiled animosity. The third years, at the very least, are quiet about their distaste.

Ushijima doesn't see it.

"Have you decided?"

"Yeah."

The olive-haired boy blinks.

"Like usual- No, Ushijima. I block because I want to block. I-"

"The team-"

"Hates me!" He interjects. "For crying out loud, I'm not even a starter!"

* * *

Has he mentioned that Ushijima doesn't see it?

* * *

"Yeah," Semi huffs. "You have."

"That's what makes it so grating!" He exclaims, slouching over his desk chair. "Because he's not arguing with me- he's all 'I respect your decision,' and 'I will give you more time to think it over,' but he isn't doing either of those things. He's incessant. It's driving me crazy."

"Well," the boy beside him drawls. "You could try giving it a shot. Blocking for the team. He'd have to stop if you were doing it."

"The team doesn't want me," he grates.

Semi frowns, and something in his stomach turns. "I want you."

For lack of anything better to say, Satori pushes his chair around back toward the desk and opts to grimace at his coursework. "Shut up."

"Block for me," the boy continues.

"How?!"

"No idea," Semi admits, sheepishly. "But think about it, yeah?"

Satori grips his pencil so hard it's a wonder it doesn't snap in half.

* * *

His mother doesn't call for another two weeks, and then two more after that. He's stopped himself from picking up his phone every two seconds, sensing a pattern, and if Semi picks up on the fact that he doesn't leave their room for his 'nightly calls home' anymore, he doesn't say anything. He catches himself staring into the middle distance a lot more than he used to and tries to combat it by rubbing his eyes and forcing himself to focus.

* * *

Ushijima makes the starting lineup and the rest of the first years are ecstatic; the second and third years clap him on the shoulder and tell him that they're happy to have him- right up until he does the unthinkable and turns it down.

"The team is not ready," he says, carefully. "Neither am I. I cannot join at this time."

Hackles raised, Satori takes one sweeping glance across the room and absorbs the varying degrees of disbelief and mild distress- because no one just _declines_ a starting position. Ushijima can't be oblivious to the tension, but he remains steadfast in his decision. He watches as the boy bows half apologetically before he turns and steps back onto the court to continue with practice.

They don't talk about it during lunch, but Satori chips at it anyway with passing glances. Ushijima is not oblivious, he can see it in the way the boy's gaze lingers on each of their faces. He just has enough conviction to not care what anyone else thinks.

* * *

He has no idea what it means to block for someone, so in the meantime he looks to expand his horizons. The first time he pulls a soft block, his side of the court falls into shambles- none of them are prepared for it ( except Ushijima, apparently, who is visibly confused when no one rushes in for the ball and it flops to the ground unceremoniously ). Despite this, Semi grins at him like he lit the moon- and it sends a little thrill through him; something pleasant and a little terrifying that lingers well into the evening.

He finds that even if it'll never amount to the thrill of killing a spike ( and crushing spirits ) that, if it'll make his friend smile like that all the time, it could be worth it.

* * *

Semi keeps doing odd little things here and there that make him feel weird- not in a bad way. Just weird.

One night he walks in on him wiping paint off his nails, and on another styling his hair into these little tufts that somehow don't look incredibly stupid. Each time he's reminded of that nervous little smile they shared back when he started letting the boy clip his hair out of his eyes, and he offers to help- or be experimented upon; anything to exchange it for a real one.

They share the same bed once or twice leading up to the holidays, purely out of necessity ( or well, because they were bone tired and Satori couldn't be bothered to climb up onto his own bed ) and don't say a word about it. Just like they don't say anything about the way Semi runs his hand through his hair, or when he crosses their ankles together while they eat.

* * *

One morning, Ohira announces that he's acquired a girlfriend. He doesn't particularly care, but Semi pauses, food poised just before his mouth, for a moment. He feels something settle in his stomach like a stone, but it dissipates almost instantly as Ushijima breaks his attention by voicing his congratulations. When he looks again, his friend is eating like nothing happened.

* * *

They don't talk about that, either. He doesn't know what he would ask, anyway.

* * *

Satori is the next person to be offered a starting position, and he accepts, but instead of excitement he feels like he might be sick. His fellow first years are excited for him, as expected- Semi leaps up into a hug that sends him careening backwards ( which he returns with more enthusuasm than he felt ) and Ushijima even bows his head to tell him that his position is "Well deserved-" but his so-called teammates throw him stilted half-smiles and forced 'Nice job's from a distance.

* * *

Training as a starter, he soon finds, is actually somehow worse. But lying on top of Semi after practice with his arms thrown around the boy's waist, fingers pulling gently through his hair, muscles at ease with that pleasant kind of burn and a movie buzzing somewhere to his right- he thinks it might be okay.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mild warning; first part of this chapter includes dissociative depiction, second and third parts depict part of coming down from it.

Satori lilts his head, attempting to gather his panting breaths as he wipes the sweat from his brow. It's nice out- maybe a little on the side of too-warm, but nothing too terrible for the run they've just finished up. One of the older boys to his left mutters something under his breath, and then the one next to him responds with a breathy chuckle; he looks over, takes in their sweat-sheened skin, the slopes of their noses and curves of their lips- he can't place their names. Still hasn't bothered to learn, aside from the boys in his year- and that's only because he hears their names enough out of Semi's mouth.

Swallowing, he diverts his gaze and slips off from the group, past their coach and off to throw himself bodily onto the grass. Pausing only a moment to rub at his eyes, he tilts his head up toward the sky. He's getting used to this whole rigorous training thing, but that doesn't mean it doesn't still suck. There's the fleeting thought that Ushijima is much better suited for this- Satori has no doubt that he'd even enjoy it- and SemiSemi woild prosper here, too. Coach Washijou looks at them like dogs he's bred for fighting now that he's got them on leashes- from what he's gathered, there are mixed feelings as a whole in regards to the old man's authority. No one's stupid enough to outright challenge the man- himself included- they can concede that there is a method to his madness, but the bare animosity that runs through the young men here still rings in his ears like a buzzing fly.

He blinks. Once, twice- focuses on his breathing, the way it's coming a little easier now but not quite right- and then lurches himself up. He watches his palm collide with the grass and then pull back to his chest, fixes on the way his fingers twist into his shirt while the other digs into the dirt below him.

"What's up with the freak?"

Looking up again, Satori shakes his head. He should be seeing the sky, or maybe the school stables- maybe he is, but his head's full of cotton or something. He can tell he's seeing, things are moving around him, but at the same time he's blind.

He shifts again, tries to clamber to his feet but only succeeds in falling back to his knees, and it hits him there that everything's definitely off. The world is crawling along without him. It's like he's watching himself be tugged around on a string like a puppet, a second too late to catch himself before he stumbles-

"Shit, is he breathing?" He thinks he is; he manages to suck in a breath, at least. Something touches his shoulder but he's too preoccupied trying to will himself to the surface with another shake of his head. "Hey, Joon-"

"Disperse! Back... - damn kids. What do you... him is going to do? Go on! Get out of here, I don't care... - You, yes. Go get the nurse."

* * *

When he blinks again there's a woman in front of him, delicate hand on his cheek, and he reels back just for a stronger hand to press into his spine and stop him. She says something, but he shakes his head- can't hear much of anything past the blood rushing in his ears- "...kay."

* * *

Later in the infirmary, nursing a cup of tea with a counselor crouched on the ground in front of him and the nurse off to his right, he's told he had a panic attack- or something akin to one, anyway, from the gist of it. He doesn't catch most of what the man says, more focused on keeping himself together and willing his hands still. They think it'd be a good idea for him to go down a few times a week- just once or twice, if he's up for it- and he blearily agrees even though he doesn't know what exactly for. It's weird for any adult to spare so much attention on him at all, but the counselor smiles kindly and says he'll rehash everything with him later, and- "You're probably tired." He is. "And I bet you're confused- that's expected, it's alright." The man reaches up to guide his cup- he'd forgotten about it, honestly- toward his mouth, so he takes the hint and takes initiative himself. Somehow it doesn't really taste like anything.

"We'll let you rest," the man continues, unprompted. "Do you think you can make it to your room?"

"Yeah," he chokes.

He watches the counselor pat his knee. "Alright," he says. "Finish up your tea- take your time."

He does.

* * *

It's awkward, poised in the doorway with one hand on the handle and the other hanging limply at his side. He can't say he's surprised to find Semi pacing their room in his absence, he's sure word has already spread through the entire school of his fantastic little breakdown. By tomorrow morning there'll be rumors that he can't handle the pressure of the school, or he bit coach, or-

"Want to go get ice cream?"

Satori blinks. Semi stands in front of him- on the precipice of too close for comfort, clutching the sleeve of his own shirt a little bit too tightly with troubled eyes wide and earnest. He watches the boy's hair bounce as he shakes his head.

"Don't worry about paying, I've got it- Chocolate, yeah? Well-" He straightens, plastering on a lipsided grin, and Satori averts his gaze as he turns to properly close their door. "Maybe you should shower first, I guess you didn't get to with everyone else."

"Yeah," he agrees. "I'm gonna do that."

"But ice cream after?"

Satori mulls over the hopeful timbre of his voice and huffs. "Sure."

"Great," Semi sighs, relieved. "Awesome. I'll wait right here, hurry up."

* * *

"It's going to melt," the boy huffs.

"Oh. Yeah." He's right- he skims his gaze over the cone and then brings it up to meet his tongue.

Semi knocks their ankles together.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Like last time?" He huffs. Then, "Sorry. That was different. I don't- There's nothing to talk about." Admitting it is unsettling so he returns his attention to his ice cream and the scenery around him. It's a nice enough afternoon, generally speaking- a bit cooler than it was this morning, but how he's wondering if that feeling was just a precursor to this whole predicament. "I don't know what happened," he admits.

"Okay," Semi says. Satori knows he won't push; he spares enough of a glance to watch his friend shift on the bench and switch his ice cream from one hand to the other.

A moment of silence passes, and he doesn't know what to say so he opts instead to say nothing. His attention is snatched by a flyer tumbling down the sidewalk by the wind, and then by the hand that falls into place beside his on the wooden slats. When he glances up Semi is looking resolutely in the other direction, but his cheeks are tinged pink and their pinkies find themselves intertwined, and neither of them seem bothered enough to pull away from the other. He casts his gaze back toward the opposite end of the street, feeling a little like his heart is close to leaping out from his throat and suddenly very intent on finishing ( yet at the same time drawing out ) his ice cream.

* * *

He scrolls back and forth between the two contacts in his phone that night, one beneath him and the other who knows where- except that's probably just him exaggerating; she's probably tucked into her own bed, hair fanning around her and snoring softly. He's disappointed, even though he has no right to be, but not surprised to find that there's no missed calls.

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, before he picks up his utensils, Ushijima braces against the edge of the table by his wrists and leans forward enough to catch Satori's eyes. It's unusual, but he's come to learn by now that despite his appearances there's nothing exactly normal about the boy.

"I have been thinking," he begins. "I am considering accepting my position as wing spiker, as I believe your addition to the starting lineup to be ultimately beneficial. With you at my front, I have no doubt of our success- but I would like to see you at your height on the court regardless."

Satori snaps his mouth shut- wasn't even really aware that it was open. Something about the thought of Ushijima watching him on the court is mortifying but the unabashed, even if misplaced, confidence is nearly appeasing at the same time. It sends his stomach turning, away.

"O-kay," he manages, eventually.

Semi slaps a hand against his back and has him tearing his gaze back toward his toast.

"I advise you to eat all of your breakfast," Ushijima says. "You must keep up your strength to perform at your peak."

"Yeah," Ohira snorts into his drink. "You heard him, eat up."

He does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wakatoshi; your blocking? * chefs kiss * i like it so much that i want to be able to watch it in action from the sidelines. with you on the team i believe it has the potential i was searching for.
> 
> satori, never felt true praise in his life; i- what is this


	11. Chapter 11

A sort of nervous lull follows over the next week and a half. He isn't called down to meet the counselor- probably because he's supposed to be taking it easy, but he isn't quite sure how he's supposed to be taking it easy so he's just focusing on work instead. Semi doesn't bother him when he buries his head in his textbook, but during practice the boy is practically glued to his hip. He still lets him clip the hair out of his eyes ( and Satori returns the favor, he's better at it now ), and sometimes when he falls asleep at his desk he blinks himself awake to a packet of milk bread, chips, or a carton of juice.

* * *

His mother calls, once, to babble animatedly about the upcoming summer and his 'long awaited,' return home.

"We'll go out for ice cream!" She laughs, "And I'll show you my newest collection- and- oh, don't let me forget, I have a surprise!"

* * *

They're rearing up for a game- his first, since even though he was allowed to join practice the others would always refuse him on the court; Semi looks more excited by the day, like he's ready to jump from his skin. He isn't nervous about the game itself; maybe a little apprehensive, despite Ushijima's blatant and unwavering confidence. It's not that he doesn't think he'll do good, or that they won't win- it's more like he's waiting for the metaphorical ball to drop. By some miracle it hasn't here- not yet, anyway- and for some reason he finds himself caring enough to want to draw it out.

Ushijima recommends in passing that he should consider taping his fingers which, honestly, is something he probably should've done since the get-go. So he does- and it turns out, like fixing a clip into your closest friend's hair, that it's not something you perfect on the first try; so Ushijima helps him there, too. It's a little awkward, the olive-haired boy kneeling between his splayed legs and cradling his hand like he's in the midst of prayer ( maybe he's reading too much western literature ), but once he breaks that vicious concentration ( his brows furrowed and hands methodical, as if his life depends on whether he sprains a finger or two ) and allows Satori to wiggle his fingers, he knows it'll be worth it.

It takes a bit to get used to, and they adjust it once or twice ( or thrice ) to find a more sutible combination. They settle on his index and middle fingers- and Olive-head insists on his previously sprained finger, just for now.

* * *

"How do I block for the team?" He asks, quietly, one evening.

Ushijima pauses before he can spoon his soup into his mouth, backtracks a little with his brows furrowed and mouth tugged into a slight frown. Satori's fingers twitch with a familiar urge, but he won't reach out in front of the others.

"You already have," the boy tells him. Once he's swallowed his spoonful, he asks, "Is this one of those trick questions?"

"No," Satori sighs.

"You have decided to block for the team?"

"Sure."

"No," Ushijima parrots, not unkindly. "You have not. Otherwise you would know."

"You can't just tell me?" He huffs.

The boy turns to look at him, half-lidded moss green eyes flickering over his face curiously. "How?" He asks, as if he hadn't been pestering about it in the first place. "I am a wing spiker."

Satori curls his lip, feeling the distinct urge to hit the olive-haired brat in the side just for that quip alone. Instead of giving in, he turns to scowl at his own soup. "I know that!" He exclaims, petulantly.

"Do what you did before," the boy says.

"I don't _know_ what I did," he whines.

Semi chuckles on his right and he snaps his head up, cheeks warming, because he'd genuinely forgotten the others were there. This wasn't something worth getting worked up over- but then a distinct huff sounds from his left, and when he looks over Olive-head's brows are smoothed over and his lip is curled just so.

"I cannot tell you how to make your position your own," he says. "But when I join you on the court, I hope that you will consider blocking for me."

Oddly enough, Satori is more captivated by the upward curve of the boy's mouth than the blatant teasing ( which he didn't even know he was capable of in the first place, serves him right for guessing at face value )- and then off-put by the fact that his cheeks are probably as red as his hair, so he squirms a bit and drops his gaze back to his soup.

"I _AM_ opposed," he grits, and Semi, who hasn't stopped to begin with, only laughs harder.

"Perhaps in time I can convince you otherwise," Ushijima murmurs, thoughtfully. "Please eat the rest of your meal, Tendou."

Begrudgingly, he scoops some of it into his mouth.

* * *

With his knees tucked to his chest and forehead pressed to the glass, Satori tries to blink the tiredness from his eyes as he tracks the figure jogging across campus. He yawns, turns his head to check the time- 5:47am- and spares a fleeting glance at his friend, mouth parted and snoring softly, before turning back. The figure is gone by the time he resumes his position; he rubs his eyes and wonders fleetingly if they were ever really there to begin with.

* * *

He takes the back of his shirt collar and pulls- tries not to feel personally affronted when someone smacks his back hard enough to make him stumble.

"Not gonna have one of those, uh- one of those things," they mutter, "on the court. Right, Tendou-kun?"

"Can you not try to kill me while I'm blind?" He huffs as he worms out of the suddenly constraining fabric. Once he's free, he turns. The older boy regards him through half-lidded eyes- if there's any concern laced there it's for the game, not for his wellbeing; that much is clear.

"That was a one time thing," he continues. "I don't even know what it was about, maybe I had heat stroke-" The older boy frowns, so Satori furrows his brows and murmurs, darkly, "Maybe I was possessed."

Another boy hits him upside the head as he cackles.

"You're so weird," a third year huffs through the fabric of his jersey.

"Play well today, Yokai-kun."

"Don't call me that."

"Eh, why not?"

"Even if he is a gangly little _obake_ , he does well enough."

" _Stop_ -"

The first cuts him off as he ruffles his hair, dark eyes turned up toward one of his peers. Satori tries to turn and catch his eye again, hackles raised, but all he gets is a glimpse of his bleached locks before his head is being forced into a bow. "He's springy," the young man says, pushing down on him as if he's testing the resistance of a coil. "And he's got the creepy factor- that's a _good_ thing, Tendou-kun! Don't look like that- and we're the best as it is, we won't have a problem."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tendou; holy- what-  
> life; idk man sometimes i gotta throw a curveball

They're softer than he'd have thought.

Fuck.

Let's backtrack.

* * *

He was right- as soon as he stepped foot onto the court it was like a fire had ignited in his veins. His fingers flex almost of their own accord, so he laces them together behind his back and stretches to ease some of the tension building in his shoulders. The older boy from earlier winks.

Fast forward a heartbeat or ten and he's shaking out his limbs to loosen up. As they go about their pre-game routine they tell him to hang back a little, practice some serves. Tonight he's the trump card, they'll go out with a big bang. Maybe Ushijima was right, maybe they will have him. He shakes his head.

There's no turning toward the benches; he can feel Semisemi's eyes on the back of his neck like he's trying to bore through the skin with pure will to nestle at the base of his skull. If he turned to meet his gaze he'd be met with a grin so wide and so bright he'd go blind, and he can't block if he's blind so he doesn't. Ushijima's staring too, trailing his gaze across the expanse of his back to gauge the line of his shoulders, the arc of his arm as he swings- that's just a guess, of course, but if he did look he'd bet soundly that he was right. It makes him want to stand ramrod straight. It also kinda makes him feel tingly in a way he can't name, like the boy's placing bets on a racing horse and gouging whether he's worth the investment- and he'd like to think he is but knows he isn't, not really. Soekawa's probably picking at his fingers and looking ready to throw up, even though there's no chance of him playing tonight, and Ohira's scanning the crowd for his girlfriend ( Satori met her once. Jin something. A nice girl, he supposes. He's got a hunch she won't show, can't really place why, and isn't that gonna suck? ).

Coach Washijo hobbles over and says all of nothing, but his eyes say, " _Don't mess up, or you'll regret it-_ " and he won't, he's already seen what happens when they do. Maybe he isn't especially careful, he doesn't exactly think before he moves, but he isn't totally unaware either. He scratches at the bridge of his nose, cracks his knuckles ( smiles to himself imagining Ushijima's affronted frown ) and bounces on his feet. Split second decisions are half the fun. This is going to be _fun._ It has to be.

When he tilts his head back toward the ceiling, a sort of giddiness erupts beneath his skin. He brings his hands up to cover his mouth in an attempt to palm off an outrageous urge to grin.

A moment or a few later, he's locked eyes with the setter of some no-name team from some no-name place and he's practically vibrating with excitement. Droopy eyes slaps him on the shoulder and mutters, "Do your thing, I'll take your lead," and as soon as the ball is in the air he's grasping the older boy by the shirt and tugging- "Go left, stay left-" something to the right catches his eye. He pivots, almost slips on the gymnasium floor- that's not right, either- and stops just as suddenly, flush in the center, all by himself. His teammates will catch up to him a moment too late, not like he needs them anyway; he's barely able to cast a glance at the setter's mortified face before he's up in the air with his arms outstretched.

Half a heartbeat later he's stumbling back, palms stinging- a small part of him is in awe of the force behind their palms- and knocking shoulders with another older boy who's rushed over in case he topples. No one says anything. Everyone's stock still. For once he averts his gaze from their abject stares of horror and blinks at his hands instead. He hopes he grows into this body soon, sometimes he feels like a doe on fresh legs. 

He huffs and something bursts and someone else shoves his shoulder, another someone slaps his back- he's going to die like this, breath ripped from his lungs at the hand of a spiker three times his size- and Droopy catches him in a headlock that almost has him choking.

"What the hell was that?" Someone says across the net. "That's a damn monster."

He wheezes out a laugh. _Maybe_.

A whistle blows; his hair is ruffled one more time before they scramble back into their positions.

* * *

They win- of course they do- and it is fun, he was right about that. Droopy- er, Hassake-san- "Eh? Say Akio!" ( "Ah, Akio-san, then." ) is finally looking wide awake as he runs up to slap both their hands together in what he surreally registers as his first high five. He even spares a moment to ruffle his hair- why _do_ they keep doing that? It's probably an absolute wreck by now- before shoving him bodily into someone else's open arms.

He blinks, doesn't even have to look up because they already are- not that he has that much height on his friend. Semisemi crushes him into a hug and then pulls back and grins, and he probably smells disgusting ( certainly feels nasty, with the sweat rolling down his neck ) but the boy is all up in his face and fluttering about him.

"I'm gonna do something," Semi huffs, and he's singing his praises as he pulls him down, shoving his ashen hair up and out of his eyes as he sweeps his gaze across the gym.

"Don't hate me," he whispers.

Satori barely parts his lips in question before the purple and white of his uniform jacket is whizzing past and there's a pressure on his mouth- just the corner, mostly the bottom because the angle is all wrong, not that Semi seems to care. His eyes are screwed shut and he's pulling back with a little huff, almost as soon as it landed, as the jacket settles over his shoulders.

The boy's eyes open again and Satori's a little- _a lot_ \- well, not _star-struck_. Maybe wonder-struck. Maybe just incredibly, horribly confused. Definitely confused- actually, he's never been more confused about anything in his life- maybe he just imagined it? The bright flush of his friend's cheeks say otherwise, but he can't be sure. Maybe it was just some bizarre post-victory hallucination from his very first game.

Semi suddenly decides he's not meeting his eye anymore so he dazedly leverages his gaze to his left, where Ushijima blinks up at him from the bench. His usual blank stare offers absolutely nothing but after a beat the olive haired boy's mouth quirks _just so_ ( It's a familiar lilt and he thinks for just a moment that maybe he _saw_ , but then the fire in his eyes registers and he takes it back ). Satori lifts one of his hands to cover his own mouth. A bead of sweat trails from his hairline to his temple.

Akio-san calls out.

"Tendou-kun! Showers!"

Semi still isn't looking at him, Soekawa is rubbing the back of a dejected Ohira ( guess he was right about that, too ) and Ushijima isn't saying anything at all, so he turns and goes.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> satori and ushijima have a spontaneous- uhm- is this what you call a heart to heart? he isn't sure.

"... very... Soft."

Satori hums- his eyes are closed, though he isn't too sure when that happened. He doesn't make to open them, even if he does reach up to rub at his face. His hand bumps against whatever he's laying his head on on its way up, but he isn't too bothered. He's too tired to be despairingly uncomfortable despite the minute jostling of the bus; he's a little warmer than he ought to be, and his left foot is on the verge of falling asleep from where it's tucked under his knee, but- cutting off his little assessment, he pauses. Wasn't someone talking?

This time he does open his eyes, blearily.

"Mm. What was that?"

"Your hair-"

He blinks at the back of the seat in front of him and lilts his head to zero in on the voices' face, but all he's met with is their profile- or, more accurately, the line of their jaw. His gaze flickers a little higher up to follow the slope of the boy's nose, leading up to his eyes, which are fixed down toward their shoes ( or maybe their laps, his guess is as good as any ). When he blinks, they've flickered upward- the boy's entire face has tilted toward him just a smidge- a soft moss green laced with something sharp he can't name, flickering across what he assumes to be the landscape morphing through the bus' windshield.

"- after you wash it," Ushijima continues, quietly, "it is very soft."

Subconsciously, Satori reaches up to touch his hair. He guesses it is soft, but he's not sure if it's a soft enough type of soft to quality as notable. He parts his lips, but finds he isn't quite sure what to say. Instead he makes to shift again, and this time when his arm catches his support gives way, just a smidge, as Ushijima moves his own arm so that they don't continue to knock into each other as he gets comfortable. His lip quirks a bit at the gesture.

Then it pulls into a frown as he comes to realize that he's sidled up close enough to press into Ushijima's side and then, as the frown slips in lieu of vague mortification, he shifts his head and realizes that he's been using the boy's shoulder as a pillow. He doesn't even remember what they had been talking about- he must've fallen asleep somehow, at some point.

It's almost a knee-jerk reaction, fast enough that he sees the olive haired boy turned to him with a raised brow, and so fast that he has to shoot his palm out against the seat backing in front of him to ensure he doesn't topple out onto the floor.

"I- um." He huffs, pulling both hands back and up to rub his face. "Sorry, I didn't realize I was dozing off."

Ushijima says nothing- Satori isn't sure he wants him to say anything, anyway- but he can feel his face heating up regardless. Shifting to face forward, resolutely staring out ahead at the road, he pulls his knees up to wrap his arms around and tuck under his chin. The bus isn't completely quiet. He can hear at least two different songs playing on top of the quiet music coming from the vehicle's radio- one of which he recognizes as Zankoku na Tenshi no Teze from Evangelion, to which someone is muttering along; the other some English song that his tired, mushy brain can't process.

"You should trim it," Ushijima says beside him.

Embarrassingly, he finds the boy staring openly at him when he chances a glance.

"Why?"

"It is getting in your eyes."

He isn't wrong. Satori even crosses his eyes as if to make sure it were there, then realizes how stupid he must look and stops with a huff. "I wear it up when I play," he manages.

"It is in your eyes now," Ushijima points out.

"I wear hair clips."

The boy blinks at him.

"Er- Sometimes, I mean. Like. When I study and stuff, or even if it's just in my way and i'm bored, I'll just-" Taking a bit of hair in his hand, he pulls it back toward his temple. "Y'know. Clip it, at the sides, like this. Keeps it out of my eyes."

He watches the other nod, slowly, confusion unfurling from his brow. "That makes sense," he concludes.

Honestly, Satori isn't sure what else he was expecting. Ushijima is a straightforward guy. It does make sense to clip your hair back so you can see- that or buy a headband, or even a hair tie. Even then, he's not sure why he would buy either of those things when Semisemi has a ready supply of funky hair clips for him to pillage from.

Oh, God ( he really has been taking too much English literature to heart, he thinks fleetingly ), Semisemi.

Straightening, and then craining his neck, he turns and leans to peer over and around the seat. He catches a glimpse of his ashen-haired friend tucked against the window and snoring softly beside Ohira, who's bobbing his head and drumming against his legs to whatever he's listening to on his headphones. A few seats father back, Akio-san breaks from a snippet of conversation with his other seniors and meets his eye with a raised brow ( even with his hair down, the vibrancy of means it makes sense that he sticks out when he moves ), so he moves, unsteadily, to pull himself back properly into his seat.

If he's startled by the hand that curls around his bicep to keep him from tumbling right off, he most certainly doesn't show it. Ushijima keeps him steady right until he's properly seated, because, "It's dangerous to sit as you are," to which he begrudgingly listens, and then pulls his hand back to settle it in his lap again.

He finds himself staring at his own hands- flexing his unwrapped fingers. Cracking his knuckles, stealing a glance at Ushijima's slight reaction of what he guesses to be a mix of both disgust and disdain at the action, and rolling his wrists. It's not like last time- it doesn't feel like he's watching his hands work from the sidelines or anything- even if he does feel uncharacteristically uneasy.

Satori brings his head up after a moment, lilts it to the left so that he can catch the other boy's eyes but instead is met with his profile like before. Tentatively he sidles over and lightly jabs him with his elbow. Ushijima blinks down at their arms quizzically, and then shifts and looks up to meet his eyes. Satori lifts his hand to block the side of his mouth.

"Can I ask you something?" He whispers.

Again, Ushijima blinks. "Yes."

"Shhhh," Satori hushes with a pout. "Whisper. This is a secret conversation."

"I see," Ushijima says with a firm nod. Then he seems to remember the prompting to quiet down, and while he does look incredibly confused Satori will give him points for hunching over to make himself better heard. Quietly, he asks, "Why?"

"Because," he says, dropping his hand. "I dunno, it just feels like it makes sense."

"A hunch?"

Satori reaches up to poke the boy between his brows, because he might die if he doesn't, and then agrees with a quiet, "Yeah, sure. Call it a hunch." He pulls his hand back after a beat, quietly pleased that while Ushijima doesn't understand why he does it he makes no move to stop it either.

"I understand," he says, which he finds weird because he doesn't understand at all himself. The olive haired boy seems sincere, however, so he nods.

"Okay," he says. "Like-" Swallowing thickly, he spares a glance off to his other side where Soekawa is propped up against a stack of bags and snoring. Turning back, meeting Ushijima's gaze, he can feel himself flush. "Boys?" He whispers, stupidly.

Ushijima furrows his brow again, but this time Satori doesn't move. He's nervous, but he isn't sure why.

"I do not understand," he whispers back, calmly.

Satori huffs out something akin to a laugh, though a smile doesn't quite etch into his expression. "Just- if, like. You know how sometimes- shoot-" If he had to guess, he'd say from how warm he is that his face is about as red as his hair. He brings his hands up to cover it, and then after a moment pulls them down. "You know how, like, boys like girls and they kiss sometimes? What if boys like boys? Or girls like girls?"

Ushijima breaks their gaze, brows furrowed as he considers Satori's question. It doesn't take him too long to come up with the answer, however.

"If they like each other," he says, confidently, "they would kiss sometimes, too."

"That-" Satori pauses. "That makes sense," he agrees, hesitantly. "But is that okay?"

"If they like each other as some boys and girls like each other," Ushijima questions, "how can it be wrong?"

" _Why can't b_ _oys be pretty, too?_ " Semisemi asks, pulling a piece of Satori's hair back and pinning it in place with some hideously sparkly clip. Satori doesn't exactly feel like he qualifies as pretty, but he agrees anyway because somehow, the nervousness tugging at his friend's mouth doesn't sit right with him.

"A lot of people think it's wrong," he counters.

"Do you?"

Satori's gaze flickers to his fingers, where he's picking at them in his lap, and back up again.

"No," he says, eventually.

"Then it must not be wrong," Ushijima says matter-of-factly. "I do not think it is wrong either, and I trust your judgement."

He blinks, surprised. "Okay."

The olive haired boy nods, once, before straightening himself and turning his gaze out the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka, satori learns that sometimes things that seem big actually have really simple answers. ushijima's a really smart guy.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Semi and Satori have a talk- sorta, anyway.  
> Ushijima continues to surprise him, which is weird but, like, not a bad thing.

To put it lightly, Satori is dead on his feet by the time he and Semi shuffle into their dorm ( guess that's what happens when you never really sleep and then have a match ). He drops heavily into his desk chair anyway.

Semi hasn't said a single word to him since The Maybe Incident, as he's begun to call it- instead sulking about for no reason, and now shuffling around the room kinda like a robot ( _or like Illumi from Hunter x Hunter,_ he muses ). Shucking his jacket, plucking through his school things as if he isn't already excessively organized, fluffing his pillow before sitting himself down awkwardly.

"So-"

The boy's hands fly up. " _So what?!_ " He cries.

" _What?_ " He sputters.

" _Nothing!_ " Semi huffs.

Satori groans and spins his chair around, thunks his head solidly against the desk.

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

" _Semisemi!_ " He whines, kicking a foot childishly at the wall. "I'm tired!"

"Then come to bed!" Semi counters, hotly. "Change out of your uniform first."

Satori huffs, then turns his head to the side so he can see his friend's face as he pouts. "Which bed?"

"Shut up!"

But the boy looks away, and he still pats the empty spot at his side- and when he's so graciously inviting him over instead of making him climb the bajillion miles to his own bunk, he can't exactly say no. Besides, whatever he says right now seems to only anger the other anyway.

"I'll wake you up for dinner," Semi promises.

It doesn't take him long to wrestle out of his uniform and into his usual sweats and hoodie combo. He's asleep almost as soon as he tucks himself into Semi's begrudgingly offered side.

* * *

Ushijima has looked over at him six times at least since they started eating. He supposes that makes sense as he's practically nodding off into his food, but it feels off somehow. The prickly sensation he gets makes him feel like a butterfly having its wings pinned to a board. It feels like he's trying to say a million things at once with his eyes, and makes him want to shuffle out of his skin. He's settled his right elbow propped against the table, face propped in his hand and angled down toward his bowl as he jabs at his rice. Almost absentmindedly, he moves his foot to lightly kick Semi's beside him.

The ashen-haired boy clears his throat and tucks his own feet under his chair instead of engaging. That's fine. Satori scowls at his food just because.

It's not fine. He doesn't know what he did wrong.

He jabs at his rice again.

The tingling sensation returns.

"Wakatoshi," he drawls. Everyone's heads- apart from the olive haired boy himself- turn so fast that he's surprised they don't pop off. He meets Soekawa's eye across from him and raises a brow as if to say, 'Yeah I totally said that.'

"Hm."

He waits.

"Yes, Tendou?"

"You keep staring," he says, plainly, because that's easier than, 'Oh, wow, I didn't actually expect you to let me use your first name.' Soekawa looks like he might get sick somehow if he keeps maintaining eye contact, so he turns his gaze back down.

"You should eat," Ushijima says.

Satori sniffs. "I just called you Wakatoshi, you know."

"Yeah."

"Yeah," he parrots, eyes narrowed. Wiping the expression as his head tilts, he raises a brow. " _Yeah?_ Call me Satori."

Ushijima casts him a sidelong glance as he takes another bite of his food, then flickers his entirely unimpressed gaze toward his beat up bowl of rice.

"Fine," he huffs. With a roll of his shoulders, Satori brings his head up off his palm and switches his utensils to his dominant hand.

"Fine what?" Ohira interjects at an apparent loss. "He just shut the door in your face."

Satori shoves some food into his mouth and shrugs. "He said he'd call me by my name if I eat all my food." He side eyes the boy beside him, who's green eyes have narrowed along with the furrow of his brow.

"I have not shut a door on Tendou," he says.

He takes another bite into his mouth before reaching out and patting the boy's shoulder. "Jus' an esspression, 'Toshi-kun."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Ohira blanches.

"He didn't say anything though?" Semi points out, though it sounds more like a question. "He didn't even look at you."

" _He_ ," Satori stresses with a severe lack of luster, "is sitting at this table. Right beside me. Ask him yourself. Like this; Wakatoshi-kun, was I right or was I right?"

"You have given the same option twice," Ushijima says, nonplussed and reaching for his drink. "But yes, your assumption was correct."

"See?"

Ohira wrinkles his nose. "What are you, a witch?"

"I'm a monster," Satori snarks with a sharp grin. "I read minds."

"The meaning of Satori is to know," Ushijima inputs sagely, "and you are good at knowing things, but you are not a monster. You are a person."

He opens his mouth to respond, but the words seem to die before they can even make their way up into his mouth. Instead, he clicks it shut again.

"Nah," Soekawa huffs behind his napkin. "He's definitely a monster. You've seen how he plays."

"He's not a monster," Semi deadpans beside him.

Rousing himself from some sort of stupor, Satori leers at the boy beside him. " _You_ said my name!" He squawks, jabbing his chopsticks in the air and wilting over.

"I did," Ushijima sighs, looking distinctly unhappy about it.

Semi punches his arm. "Don't pick at him, you ass."

Heedless, though cradling his throbing arm, he cackles dramatically- effectively quieting everyone else at the table. "Don't look so glum Wakatoshi-kun! I told you I'd eat. I'm a man of my word."

"You are a boy," Ushijima corrects, but looks considerably more at ease by the reassurance. 

"I'm older than you!" He points out.

"That does not make you a man," the boy counters. "We are the same age. You are older by three months."

"It does too!"

"No."

"Yes it does!"

"We are sixteen," he maintains. "We are not men."

" _Ugh_."

Soekawa leans toward Ohira, who joins him in staring as he makes a show of nudging both Ushijima and Semi- who looks more bemused than anything- so they can watch him stuff his face.

"When did this happen?" He asks.

The other boy shrugs.

* * *

"Do I actually have to eat all of it?"

"Yeah."

"You just want to see me suffer."

"No."

"Agh. _Fine_."

* * *

Now the boys sit crisscrossed in the dark on their- ahem, Semi's- bed, facing each other with their knees touching. It was his idea, because he's pretty positive by now that he didn't imagine whatever happened back on the court and they can only circle each other like sharks for so long before one of them loses it. His friend hadn't objected, though he looks distinctly uncomfortable by their proximity alone.

"So-"

Semi wrinkles his nose and starts flushing almost instantaneously.

"I don't have to explain myself to you!" He blurts with a growl. "This is stupid! So what if- _So what_?!"

"I just-"

The ashen-haired boy frowns and balls his fists at his sides. "Just what? I _told_ you-"

"You haven't told me _anything_!" Satori interrupts. "What're you so angry for? Just let me talk! I don't care! I mean- like-" Huffing, he waves hands around. "I don't know what you meant, but I didn't care. I didn't mind."

"You don't care," Semi repeats, jutting his chin. "Does that-" He breaks himself off as he swallows. "You're not upset with me."

"I slept with you earlier!"

" _Don't say it like that!_ " The boy snaps, throwing a hand out to punch his shoulder. "It sounds bad!" 

Satori clutches his shoulder and shimmies dramatically in his seat. "Stop hitting me!" He bites back with a whine. "You're so mean! I'm-"

This time, Semi reaches around to pull him in by the back of his neck and meet him half way. His words die on his tongue like he's just blown out a candle. It's admittedly terrible- their teeth clash, the angle is all wrong and Satori's brain has basically tuned out ( and what does he even do with his hands? )- but then the boy pulls back with a huff and tilts his head and this time when he leans back in it kinda works. Well, he doesn't know how any of this works at all, really, and he doubts Semi does either- but the boy isn't punching or frowning at him anymore and it isn't exactly unpleasant, which is more than he'd dared to hope for; so he closes his eyes, fumbles with his hands until they settle somewhere along his friend's legs and the mattress ( Semi's eventually settle somewhere in his hair and along his arm ), and presses back.

His lips are softer than he'd've thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >->  
> <-<  
> whaaat?  
> the tags still haven't changed?  
> ( yeah, i know B) )


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> satori's favorite new hobby is 'annoy the crap out of semi eita'. he /officially/ makes a friend.

" _Semisemiiii!_ "

Cringing from halfway across the gym, Semi Eita turns to splice him in half with a glare.

"Shut _up!_ " He yells. "Put your arms down! You're embarrassing!"

Satori presses his thumbs to his cheeks, sticks out his tongue, and waggles his fingers. Semi turns back to the ball in his hands with a scowl and closes his eyes to ground himself in order to not flub his serve.

"You _are_ embarrassing," Ohira mutters beside him.

"Wakatoshi-kun is going to ask to join the starting lineup tomorrow," he mumbles in lieu of a retort. "What do you think about that?"

"Ugh," says Ohira, eloquently. "Don't call him that. It's weird out of your mouth."

"He likes it," he argues. "We're best friends."

"You are not. Semi's your best friend."

"We will be best friends," he amends, begrudgingly. "Semisemi is not my best friend."

"I don't know what your angle is," Ohira sighs, "but don't drag him through the mud."

"What?" Satori blinks, then frowns and turns. "Who?"

"Him." The boy points out toward the gym, and Satori knows where it'll land before he even bothers to follow.

His frown deepens as he turns back.

"Who do you think I am?" He manages. "Who was the one who bothered to even bring him to lunch? Wakatoshi is my friend."

His teammate snorts. "You don't even talk to him outside of meals and practice."

"And you do?"

"Well-"

"Maybe I don't know him that well," he says, scathingly, "but at least I've bothered to know him at all."

Ohira elects to say nothing, so he resumes staring at Semi from across the room.

"Anyway," he says. He can imagine the slump of the boy's shoulder's beside him, the relief in his exhale with the change in topic. "You never gave me an answer. How do you feel about it?"

"Um. Good, I guess. I mean, definitely. He's really good. We're already a force to be reckoned with, but he's the cherry on top of the cake."

"Yeah," he agrees, nodding slowly. "I don't think you used that expression right. Do you eat cherries on your cakes?"

Semi pulls back for another go, so he waves the boy beside him silent and whistles in hopes of riling him up enough to flub the serve. Much to his disappointment, he doesn't- but he does flush to the tips of his ears. It's more or less a win in his book.

"Do you not want him to?"

"Huh?" Satori says. "Wakatoshi-kun is a force of nature. He's owed it."

"I've got no idea what that means," Ohira sighs. "I'm not even gonna try."

"Maybe that's for the best, Cherry-chan," he agrees.

Ohira glowers at him so severely that even though he hasn't seen his face he's instantaneously begun to perspire. Nervously, he angles himself so that the boy is staring at the back of his head.

"Call me that again," the boy seethes. "Do so much as even _think_ it- I'll snap your chopstick limbs in half."

"Noted," Satori says with a grimace.

* * *

"I want your phone number!" He says, admittedly much louder than he'd meant to. "And-" confidence henceforth wavering as the other boys filter out around them, he holds out his phone. "I want you to have mine, too."

"Okay."

"I-" he blinks. "Oh. Great!"

Ushijima takes his phone lightly from his hand, then pauses to fish out his own from his bag and exchange it.

"This'll be sweet!" Satori exclaims, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he punches in his number. "I realized- definitely all on my own, y'know- we haven't really been doing any actual friend stuff. But now we can plan things out! And, like, talk more during the day!"

"Okay," Ushijima repeats. He's still typing, eyes narrowed in focus.

"Wakatoshi-kun," he murmurs after a moment. "Everything alright?"

The boy frowns. "My name does not fit."

* * *

"There!"

"Toshi-kun."

"Sounds nice, right? Short and sweet."

"Hm."

"Was that a content, 'Hm'? Or a 'Yikes,' 'Hm'?"

"What is BFF?"

"Best friend forever! That's me, obviously."

"Hm... What is this, after it?"

"A heart!"

"... Hearts do not look like this."

"It's sideways! One of those cartoony hearts- look at it like this!"

"... Hm."

"I'm taking these 'Hm's as 'You've opened my eyes, Satori. I'm so grateful to have you as my best friend. We'll be together forever.'"

"Alright."

"Cool. Wanna hang out after dinner tomorrow?"

"... Okay."

* * *

"You're a bastard," the boy huffs.

"I know."

"Insufferable."

"I knoooow."

Semi leans forward, as if proximity is relevant to processing the words on the pages of his book. He nudges Satori in the ribs and extends a finger to point. "What's this word?"

Satori lilts to the side and props his chin on the boy's shoulder. He finds himself subconciously leaning in a bit, too- maybe he was onto something after all. Squinting, he hums.

"Dastardly."

"What's that mean?"

"No idea," he says. "I'm just guessing."

"Ugh. You suck."

"I'm going out with Wakatoshi-kun tomorrow."

Semi whistles. "Nice. Where?"

"No idea," he admits. "I was all, 'Wanna hang out?' and he was like, 'Okay.' I'm gonna text him once we finish up."

Beneath his chin, Semi stills. "You have his number?"

"Got it before we left practice today."

"Didn't even think he had a phone, to be honest," the boy admits. Then, sheepishly, he inclines his head. "Think I should ask for it?"

"Why not?"

"Okay," Semi sniffs. "Satori?"

"Hm?"

"Nevermind. What's this word?"

"Uhhh... Pastry."

"That can't be right."

"Why not?"

"Dastardly pastries," the boy huffs, snapping the book shut fiercely. "I give up."

"Awesome, this is boring." He flips his own book shut and kicks it away with a grin. "Wanna watch something?"

"No."

"Ugh."

"Can I do your hair?"

"No."

"Ugh."

"Wanna-"

"No."

" _UGH_."

"Holy crap!" Semi huffs a laugh, throwing himself back into Satori's chest carelessly. He tilts his head back onto his shoulder but turns it away, a vain attempt at hiding his amused grin. "Stop being dumb! Put something on, I wanna try braiding."

* * *

_satoriii_ \- _8:43pm_

wakatoshiiii~

you're awake, right? i hope so, it's pretty early :P

_toshi-kun_ \- _8:52pm_

Yes.

_satoriii_ \- _8:53pm_

cool!

still down to hang out tomorrow? (￣▽￣*)ゞ

_toshi-kun_ \- _8:55pm_

Yes.

_satoriii_ \- _9:03pm_

awesome! 

honestly i have no idea what we could do, haha

semisemi's got a study sesh with ohira, so we could hang out in my dorm if you're cool with that- i can show you the latest shonen jump! i think you'll like it- i still think it's, like, a sin that you haven't read any 

or we can watch something on my laptop

i guess we can play it by ear

* * *

"You're literally talking his ears off," Semi mutters behind him.

"His vocabulary is 'Yes,' 'No,' and, 'Okay,' Semisemi," he huffs. "I gotta give him something he can work with."

The ashen-haired boy hums. "I've got no idea what you're talking about-"

* * *

_toshi-kun_ \- _9:07pm_

Okay.

* * *

Satori shakes his phone vigorously, as if that might prompt Ushijima, by some miracle, into speaking full sentences.

"- Sheesh, calm down." Semi pats his arm and then shifts to grab another piece of his hair from the side of his head. He'd been skeptical at first- adamant that his hair definitely wasn't long enough to make a decent braid- but as usual, the boy was proving him wrong. "What's wrong with you-? Don't answer that."

"Hmph."

* * *

_satoriii_ \- _9:11pm_

awesome!!

i'll see you tomorrow at breakfast, then :3

have a good night, wakatoshi! and have sweet dreams!!

_toshi-kun_ \- _9:15pm_

Yes. Goodnight, Satori. Sleep well.

* * *

" _HAH!_ "

Semi huffs, but- judging from the kiss pressed to the top of his head- he does so fondly. His fingers slip down along the sides of his face. "You're a dork."

"Am not," he mutters, tossing his phone to the side. With little prompting, he tilts his head back.

The boy leans down to press a kiss to his forehead, then to the bridge of his nose.

"Are too," he says. Then, after a moment, "You should grow your hair out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ceo of making you fall for a ship you didn't come here for  
> they're still only first years  
> young, impressionable souls  
> so much can happen in such little time


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> satori teaches his friend how to high five, kinda. oh- and he goes to counseling.

"Alright," the man across from him says, clicking his pen. Satori can appreciate the openness of his posture, the thought behind the way he leans against his desk and keeps his gaze down toward the clipboard propped on his thigh- kinda like, 'Look at me, I'm an open book, nothing to be afraid of'. "So. You're doing well in your classes."

"Mhm."

"Making friends?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good," he says, earnestly. "That's great. Anything you want to talk about?"

Satori lifts his shoulders. "Not really."

The man nods, raising a hand to push his bifocals up the bridge of his hooked nose. "You had your first game recently- well, for high school, anyway. You were in the club in middleschool, right?"

"Yeah," he allows. "Never played, though."

"No? Why?"

He shrugs again. "They wouldn't play with me."

The counselor blinks at him. "Why not?"

"Oh, I dunno," he huffs. "They didn't like me. Why's your throw rug a flower?"

"Don't like flowers?"

"It clashes. Everything else is bland."

The room itself is only a little bigger than his dorm- it feels kinda snug, and more clinical than welcoming. Weird shaggy sunflower rugs don't do much surrounded by basically bare bookshelves and metal filing cabinets. The least they could do was give it a paint job- maybe hang a picture or two.

"You're right," the man agrees. "Any suggestions?"

"Um..." Satori shrugs for the third time in however many minutes. "Real plants?"

"You seem a little tense," the counselor says with a small smile. "We don't have to talk about anything if you don't want to. I'm just checking in to make sure you're alright."

"I'm not tense," he argues. He really isn't. It's kinda awkward, and he doesn't know what exactly to say, but he isn't uncomfortable. "But okay."

"Why didn't they let you play? There aren't any behavioral marks on your records."

He huffs. "Pass."

"Alright, maybe next time."

"Next time?" Way to dampen the mood. Not that there was one to begin with.

"Yeah," the other says, nonchalantly- these sit-ins are probably the most interesting aspect of his job. "I was thinking we could check in every other week or so- that sound okay?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Well, you get to skip a class."

"That's instigating," Satori points out. "Very unprofessional. I'm guessing the answer to my question is no."

The man blinks at him. "So, friday after next?"

"No."

"Wednesday?"

"Fine," he sighs. "I guess. But only if I'm skipping sixth."

"What's sixth?"

"English," he bemoans.

"Why do you want to skip?"

With an exaggerated groan, he tilts his head back onto the couch ( said couch being the nicest part of this entire experience ) and blinks up at the florescent lights. "It's boring. Why else?"

"Well, kids-"

"Tsk," he frowns. "We can stop there. That's a jab. Color me offended. Not actually, but still."

A moment of silence passes before the man shifts in his seat. "What?"

"You were going to say 'Kids can be mean,'" he says, matter-of-factly, "and that implies that you see something in me that you know they'd make fun of. Isn't your job, like, supposed to be to lift my spirits or something? Not point out my flaws? Nice going."

"I see," Bifocals says. "May I be honest, Tendou-kun?"

"Sure."

"I think there is a lot that we can learn from each other."

* * *

So, all in all, he guesses their meeting was fine. Maybe a little on the painfully awkward side, especially towards the end- but it's definitely something he can endure to skip out on English.

Although he's sort-of starting to wish he'd bothered to catch the man's name.

* * *

Semi doesn't ask him how it goes. That much isn't unusual; they've come to a sort of unspoken agreement that some things just aren't talked about. Things like; his mother, the reason he joined volleyball and his studying habits.

Semi keeps stuff from him too ( answers to things like 'When did you start wearing these?' and 'Where do you even get this stuff?' ), and he supposes it's only fair not to push it out of him when it so clearly makes him uncomfortable.

In other words, they learn to shut their mouths around each other. And he's taken it upon himself to tie the boy's tie in the morning, because he's useless at it.

He isn't really sure what they are, if he's honest. They haven't talked about it. Like friendships, Satori's got a running theory that Semi Eita isn't sure how to navigate these things either. The most notable shift in dynamic must be that they're touching all the time; Semi's arm around his waist. His own arm thrown across his shoulders. Their thighs fused together on the bench, their ankles hooked together under the dining hall table. And the kissing, obviously.

"Oh!" He says, dropping his hands onto the boy's shoulders. "Wakatoshi-kun!"

Semi raises a brow. "What about him?"

"He's joining the starters today!" In his excitement, Satori gives him a light shake- to which he's met with a sharp glare. Semi's fleeting temper is something that has yet to dissipate entirely, so in order to avoid getting a shove to the gut he leans in to press an apologetic kiss to the boy's cheek.

"Ugh," his friend huffs. "How don't you get embarrassed?"

"What?" He laughs. "In the privacy of our own room? Forget that, let's go."

* * *

Ushijima is allowed his position- and he makes a big show of bowing so far that it's a wonder he doesn't snap in half. Once he's upright, Satori turns to him with his palms raised. He's never seen someone more confused in his life.

"High fives!" He says, turning back around with a grin. "Like this!"

Semi claps him back with a grin of his own.

This time, when he turns back around, Ushijima presses their palms together lightly. He wouldn't call it a high five, like, ever- they're kinda just standing there, almost as if they were comparing hand sizes- but he supposes it's a work in progress.

"While we're here," Coach Washijou interrupts with a sigh. "Semi Eita, starting setter. Ohira Reon, wing spiker."

"Woah, wait-" Someone says.

"Semisemiii!" He cheers, giddily clapping his hands against Ushijima's. "You hear that, Toshi-kun?"

"Yes," he confirms, nodding once. "I did."

" _Stop_ ," Semi huffs, though when he turns his head to glare his cheeks are flushed. "Read the room."

Satori rolls his eyes, but he pulls back his hands and gives Ushijima a small shrug. The boy allows his own to drop limply at his sides.

"That is all. Practice may commence with these changes in mind. Any concerns," the old man bites, "relay them to your captain."

"What about Soekawa Jin?" Ohira calls.

"Who gives a shit about 'Kawa?" Another boy questions. "Who's getting benched?"

"Calm down, I'll-"

" _Bullshit_ ," another third year seethes. "Yokai-kun was bad enough, now we're being thrown off the lineup by a gaggle of first years."

"Stop callin' him that," Akio barks. "If you can't keep your cool, you don't belong on the court anyway. You're only riled up because you know you could've been doing better."

While Akio-san- Who Satori will never admit he just realized was their captain- does damage control, he sweeps his gaze across the gym. Despite what Semi thinks, he isn't oblivious to the tension in the room- their coach is unconventional at best, with a penchant for avoiding confrontation unless he's the one doing the confronting, so of course it makes sense that most were more than a little off-put and confused. And probably hurt, too, knowing three of their friends were being dropped off the court at once. Ushijima is probably the only one who's made peace with the decision right off the bat, secure in his position and confident that his teammates can shoulder their responsibilities. Though, as always, that's just a guess.

The tension is going to blanket their court for a while, in any case.

Ohira steps up again. "But Soekawa has-"

"Soekawa can speak up for himself," Akio sighs.

Satori interlocks his fingers and stretches his arms above his head. "That's the problem, isn't it?" He hums to the meek looking first year. "The team can't read minds, how're you supposed to pull your weight if you aren't gonna call for yourself?"

"And also," Ushijima says. "Your recieves are lacking. You will benefit from extra practice."

"Gee," the boy says. " _Thanks_."

"Your stamina could do with some improvement, too." He notes.

"I agree. If you would like, you could join me on my morning-"

"No," Soekawa wheezes in horror, at the same time Satori blanches, "That's _you_?"

The olive-haired boy side eyes him.

"It is," Ohira affirms with an appropriately grim expression. "Dude's out by five-thirty, back by six-fifteen."

"Roughly," Ushijima corrects, unnecessarily.

"I think I'm missing something," Semi whispers to his right.

" _How_?" He questions. "How can you function so early?"

The boy furrows his brows.

"Pure spite," Ohira says.

"No," Ushijima says, offhandedly.

Sighing, Satori lowers his arms and reaches out to clasp his shoulder. "You're so cool, Wakatoshi-kun. Never change."

"But-"

"Just an expression!" He reassures with a lazy grin. "Just be yourself- like, forever!"

"I do not know how to be anyone else," Ushijima reassures him, in turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments have me losing it i adore you guys


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of reflection. satori dangles his keys in front of wakatoshi's nose- amicably, of course- and wakatoshi saves him from certain doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's a bit longer than usual! i really enjoyed putting it together.

Ushijima pushes open the door to his dorm unceremoniously. Nonetheless, Satori ducks under his arm like an overexcited ( not to mention oversized ) puppy and stumbles inside. 

"I'm gonna be honest," Satori admits once he balances himself, pushing his hair up and out of his eyes. "Didn't expect this from you."

"Ah."

"Well! Eh, it doesn't matter. I'm not too tidy myself."

"I see," Ushijima sniffs, a dusting of color settling on his cheeks despite his neutral expression.

"Aw, c'mon, Toshi! Couple of textbooks and some strewn clothes are no big deal. Look, why don't we head out in a little bit? I'll help you pick up first."

"Satori," he says with a huff that he wills himself to believe is out of vague amusement.

"I mean it," he says, earnestly. He really does. Sheepishly, he scratches the back of his head. "I want to. Promise it'll make you feel better. There's really not that much, most of it even looks like Ohira's! But I bet it's itching at you anyway."

"I know," the boy sighs with a show of as much great emotion he possesses ( that is to say, none ), but he does bend down to pick up a math book. "It is."

It really isn't a big mess- he kinda feels bad for bringing it up at all, and only really offered because he was surprised. It's not like the floor is covered, or there's garbage around the room- Mostly it's Ohira's stuff just strewn about haphazardly. There was just always the guess factor- Ushijima is this, Ushijima does this, Ushijima says this, and so his room must reflect it. He'd expected something tidy, almost military-style bland. Instead the bed is unmade and his school supplies are bundled around in weird places in the room, like he'd started to work on something, got distracted, and then left it to work on something else. That's not particularly surprising in itself, Wakatoshi is, after all, just human- but somehow it caught him off guard anyway.

He picks up a coat and lays it on the bottom bunk. "So," he begins, conversationally. "Morning runs, huh? When did you start doing those?"

Ushijima turns another book over in his hand; opens to a random page to skim its contents before gently closing it, setting it on the desk and turning away.

"I have always been early to rise," he manages eventually, back to tidying up alongside him. "I become restless when there is nothing to occupy me. Besides this, I enjoy it."

Satori blows a lock of hair away from his eyes. "I'd probably die if I ran so much. But, like- if... Do you like running alone? I mean, I can't say I'd be up to it all the time, because I don't sleep much to begin with, but- oh, look at you. What'd I do?"

He huffs, trying to quell his nervous grin in the face of Ushijima's narrowed gaze, even as his arms are laden with clothes.

"You're giving me your, 'I'm disappointed,' face."

"I am not," the boy says, unconvincingly.

"You sure? Cause-"

"You can, if you would like to join me."

"Okay- I-"

"If," he interrupts again, "you believe that you can keep up."

"Wakatoshi," he pouts.

The boy lifts his shoulders in an 'it is what it is manner,' and moves to take the belongings from Satori's arms. He allows it begrudgingly, opting instead to sit on the floor and begin collecting worksheets and other little things scattered about.

"Do you think I can?" He tries.

"I do," the boy says, confidently. "Though I am certain you will not enjoy it. Complaining will be inevitable."

"Probably," he allows, with a slow nod. "I doubt that's something you want to hear on your morning run."

"I like hearing you talk," Wakatoshi says, straightforward as ever as he brings himself to sit across from him. "The subject is irrelevant."

* * *

He's seven years old, toeing at a clump of weeds a few feet off from where his mother crouches at the foot of her rose bush. It's warmer than it ought to be- or, at least, he's young enough to believe that the sun has some sort of penchant against him singularly. A bead of sweat rolls down the column of his throat. When his mother turns in a few minutes to check on him he'll crouch down and take the clump in his hands, but for now he's content to stand here and watch her work.

The braid that falls over her shoulder is messy at best, but one that he also happens to be particularly proud of ( having done it himself for the third time ). She tucks a flyaway strand from her face and turns. The roots come up with an odd tearing noise.

* * *

He's eight and it's raining. His little suit coat is sticking to his arms and the white button up beneath it is plastered to his throat at the collar. She kneels in the muddy dirt and pulls him into her chest and wails so loudly that it practically reverberates in his own. Their umbrella had tumbled into the mud somewhere behind him when she'd fallen to her knees.

On the prepared altar sits a photo of a man with hair just as stark as his own, mouth quirked in a permanent smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes. He recognizes the man fairly easily, but aside from photos hasn't seen his father since, well- ever, he guesses. That's fine. He can't mourn something he's never had; he doesn't even know what mourning is, just that he's never seen her cry before. Never even thought she could. His hands ball into fists in the fabric of her kimono.

Over her shoulder, his grandmother frowns severely at them both while his uncle rubs his eyes. Peering up at the picture of his father with her mouth pursed thinly is his aunt from his mother's side, with her newborn on her hip and husband beside her. He turns and buries his face between his mother's shoulder and throat.

It's the first and last time he sees any of them. For a long while after the tsuya concludes, the roses in his mother's garden are left to wilt. He plucks drying petals from the blades of grass and squeezes them in his fists.

* * *

They don't ever end up going out. Wakatoshi lets him talk and talk and talk, well after they've finished up tidying- mostly about the latest issue of Shonen Jump, and then general complaints about course work and such ( and he proudly maintains that the boy looks considerably more at ease with his belongings sorted out ). He doesn't say much himself at first, but Satori doesn't mind. Instead of a mystery, he finds that he's more like a lock box within a lock box ( within a multitude of other lock boxes ) and through careful prodding he realizes he already has the keys at his disposal ( open curiosity and a well worded question can get him talking at length ). Volleyball is always a viable middle ground and on top of it, it brings a glint to his eyes so bright that he finds himself dregging it up more than once just to see it.

Eventually he finds himself straddling one of the desk chairs while Wakatoshi sits crisscrossed on the bed in front of him. Satori blows another tuft of hair from his eyes, blatantly amused by the boy's rapt attention. He knows that manga isn't something he's particularly interested in, but he's soaking up the words like a sponge anyway just because it's him talking. That sort of attentiveness isn't something he's used to- Semisemi honestly would've told him to shut up eons ago. It's a nice change of pace, he doesn't like silence much, and as long as the other is displaying some sort of interest he's content ro ramble on.

"And- Ah-" he cuts himself off, bracing against the seat backing. "Holidays are around the corner, doing anything special?"

"No," Wakatoshi says. "Practice." He furrows his brows. "My mother hosts a gathering every year, I suppose I will be made to attend that as well."

"One of those stuffy, old people parties with the not-so-sweet sweets and ill fitting formal wear?"

Wakatoshi blinks at him, then lowers his gaze to his lap with a huff that the slight lilt of his mouth betrays as a laugh.

"Yes," he says. "One of those."

"Kinda like a Hallmark movie, huh?" He prompts, then inclines his head. "We should try to hang out some time over break. Don't hold me to that though, my mother gets jealous if I try to kick up the dust on her. You better text me, like, every day though. I wanna hear all the interesting gossip from your little shindig."

"I have not seen those," the olive-haired boy says. Stricken, Satori throws himself backwards in his seat- which would have been fine, maybe, had he not already been straddling it; luckily, Wakatoshi reaches over and catches him by the arm before he can begin to tumble straight off. "I am also not very observant," he continues as he pulls him back into place. "Despite speaking the same language, it is like they talk in tongues- I often find myself lost in their spiels. I also likely wouldn't convey it proficiently, I have been told I am terrible at texting."

Satori is definitely staring by now, brows furrowed and bracing against the seat backing on one arm while the other is extended outward and still held firmly ( but not at all painfully ) in the boy's grasp. He's unlocked a sort of box that he hadn't assumed was there.

"That's not true," he finds himself saying. "Well," he huffs, "yeah, people talk weird. Most of the time they don't say what they mean. They toss in double meanings and they talk in circles, and I can see that being confusing- I'm good at seeing through that though, but not everyone can. Maybe I talk around people sometimes too, but mostly I say it like it is."

Continuing, he tips himself forward this time by bracing one foot on the edge of the bed. "You're really observant, especially on the court. I remember the first time I pulled a soft block instead of a kill, you were the only one geared up to keep the ball going. And maybe you dont text like the average, but I don't care about that. If it's hard for you, I dunno," he lilts his head in lieu of a shrug, then shakes it to try to get a bothersome tuft of hair out of his eyes. "Maybe we could call every now and again instead, maybe it's just easier for you to talk out loud."

Wakatoshi parts his lips-

"And also!" Satori interjects, shamelessly jabbing a finger in the boy's direction. "We're gonna watch some Hallmark films. At some point- but only if you wanna. I promise they're good-" he waves his hand. "Well, maybe not good, but they're, like, wholesome. Have you watched any Studio Ghibli films?"

"I haven't," Wakatoshi tells him, looking a little lost.

"Then we'll watch them, too!" He says. "But again, only if you wanna."

The boy blinks at him. After a moment, he nods. "I do."

"Cool," Satori says with a grin, finally settling in his seat. "If you don't understand something, tell me and I promise I'll explain."

"Okay," the boy says. It's only then, when he removes his hand, that he realizes it was there the whole time to keep him steady. "That sounds... nice."

* * *

"Can you come here, Satori?"

He's ten, already tired in a way he can't begin to name. He rubs his elbow- bandaged the same as his other one, the same as both his knees and his left forearm, from a particularly harsh fall at the hands of another boy on the school grounds- and makes his way across the lawn. His palms sting for the same reason; he lets his hands fall back to his sides.

She holds a rose clipping up beside his hair, smiles up at him and says, "Perfect."

He sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's my process, you ask? there is none
> 
> toss shit on the pan, maybe re-write a part or two, spend next few minutes skimming for errors n post
> 
> the spontaneity is somehow fulfilling


	18. Chapter 18

Her hand is warm in his- steady, grounding. He swipes at his nose with a shaky hand-

"Satori, baby," she pleads. "Don't do that, you'll get it everywhere."

"It's already everywhere," he points out with a sigh, spitting- or, more accurately, drooling- onto the pavement between his knees.

"How's your-"

"Hurts," he mumbles past a sigh.

It's like a steady stream- whoever said head wounds bleed more really wasn't kidding around. Satori keeps his head tilted forward between his knees, though the position does little to ease the pour of blood and spit from his split lip and busted nose. She holds his left hand in both of her own, brings it up to press a kiss to his scraped knuckles. He wipes the blood caked onto his other hand onto his shirt.

"Satori," his mother tuts, quietly.

"'M sorry," he croaks back.

"I know," she says, this time leaning down to kiss the crown of his head. "How's your head feeling?"

"Dizzy," he huffs, humourlessly. "'M tired."

"I know, baby. You can't go to bed yet. Pinch your nose for me."

Blearily, he obliges. It isn't his clearest memory, that's for sure, but even now he can feel the swipe of her thumb along the back of his hand like it's still there.

"This penchant they have for you is ridiculous," she says, giving him a light squeeze. "I'm done," she decides. "Were done. It could've been so much worse- what would I do if I lost you, too? Do you know how devastated I'd be if you left me? I'd die with you."

Satori lifts his head a smidge, still lightly pinching his nose to slow the flow, and mumbles another quiet apology as he side eyes her. He doesn't want to think about those things. "Still here," he reassures.

"I know," she nods, though she's still frowning severely. "We're leaving. This place isn't good for us... What's taking these people so long?"

He blinks, then does it once more, but she falls out of focus and he swallows and his tongue feels almost as heavy as his head.

"Satori, baby- keep pinching your nose- hey- don't fall asleep on me-"

* * *

Wakatoshi is a force of nature; a clap of thunder that precedes the promise of unyielding strength. He is also the still water of a pond in winter. Satori doesn't understand him- he can guess as much as he wants, but the thing about guessing is that you never really know for sure until you jump.

He collects rocks; and bottle caps ( only the metal ones ), and soda tabs, but he's proudest of the rocks. On the floor between them lies about thirty, and he's rattling off their names- Satori knows a few but most he will likely never remember; they're bizzare and sometimes long and Wakatoshi lists them so casually and with such ease that it's distracting. He pays attention as best he can anyway.

He explains how he organizes them ( by type, which he informs that the easiest to come across is sedimentary, and then by size- but sometimes he'll go by color, or by texture ), where he found them, why they caught his eye. Satori looks between the piece of sandstone ( with cross bedding, or inclined strata ) that he's turning in his own hands, somehow both smooth and grainy, and marvels at the fact that the boy is practically gushing. It's about as near to excitement as he gets, almost in the same way he gets about volleyball, and Satori doesn't particularly care about rocks but he could probably listen to Wakatoshi talk about them for hours.

It isn't just reciprocal courtesy, he just likes to watch his eyes light up.

"Tell me about this one again?"

"Coquina," the boy says, lifting the piece like something to be coveted. "A type of limestone composed of fragmented shells and likely other fossil debris."

It's kinda ugly, he thinks, but he holds that line of thought behind a light smile. "Why's it got so many holes in it?" He asks.

"It is formed in shallow waters, therefore not severely compacted."

"You mean the water squishes it together?"

"Yes." Wakatoshi holds out his palm for the stone in Satori's, and upon its retrieval replaces it with the stone in question. He's not sure how he expected it to feel, but it trills something in his veins- or, well, maybe that isn't the rock. "But there was not enough water to squish it so tightly together," he continues, "so it is porous."

"No rock is perfect," he says, thumbing its ridges. He brings it closer to make out the tiny shells. "Nothing is. I think it's pretty," he finally decides. It wasn't his initial assessment, sure, but now that it's in his hands he can kinda see where the boy is coming from.

Wakatoshi shows him things that he never thought could be exciting, and leaves him wondering why he hadn't bothered to look before.

* * *

It's a few days into the following week that Satori decides that he has a problem- mostly to do with the fact that he can't tell whether he's being disproportionately upset and high-strung, or if he's actually being wronged. There's also the problem of 'If I'm being wronged, is it really worth it to do anything?' and the conclusion that he almost always comes to is 'No, it isn't, because no one cares enough to change anything.' So when this boy in his maths class snaps his pencil for the fourth day in a row, and he gets scolded for not having a utensil to write with, and he gets tripped up in the hallway- and then during practice yet another senior reaches out to shove his shoulder and tell him to cool down-

"What's your problem, Yokai-Ku-"

He doesn't bite his outstretched fingers, but he snaps warningly and it's a near thing.

"Fuck!" The young man spits, yanking himself back. "What a freak!"

"What?" He hisses. "Want to play with monsters, but you're too scared to get close? Maybe that's why you couldn't keep your spot on-"

"Satori."

The palm that presses between his shoulders is both steady, forceful and warm all at once. It drains the tension from his shoulders and pulls him taut at the same time. He snaps his mouth shut. It's not worth it.

It's not worth it.

The palm slides up into his hair, drags his head forward and down, almost playfully, as he takes a deep breath- in, out- and squeezes the ball between his palms. Block for the team. _For_ the team. Don't bite them.

* * *

At dinner that night, their table is quieter than usual. Eita's thumb brushes soothingly across his knuckles beneath the table, but he thinks if he bothered to slip their palms together that his grip would be bruising.

"Satori." Wakatoshi is the first to break the silence, though his gaze doesn't leave his plate. He watches his head lilt just a smidge. "Please eat your meal."

"I..." With a resigned sigh, he straightens himself. "Okay." He clears his throat. "Just- I'm not that hungry."

"I understand."

He has to drop Eita's hand to use his chopsticks.

* * *

"If you want-"

"I don't," he huffs.

Eita twists his hands into the roughness of his blanket. "Why not?"

"Because," he drawls, like it's obvious. With a tired sigh, he pulls back to lie his head on his own pillow. "It was just a joke."

"It wasn't a joke!" The boy argues. "He just-"

"Says it to say it," he bites back. "I'm used to it, I-"

"That doesn't make it better!"

Satori hums and turns on his side, slipping his eyes shut. Some moments later, Eita deigns to speak again.

"Break is in, like, a week," he says. "Has your mom called?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Eita," he chides, softly. "Stop. I'm tired."

"You tried to bite someone today."

"I should've!" He snaps, petulantly.

It's quiet for a moment. Nothing but the click of their heater. Then, in the darkness of the room, he hears the boy chuckle.

"Yeah," he says. "You should've. But I'm glad you didn't- we would've been devastated if you had been suspended."

"Go to bed," he huffs.

"Satori?"

"Hm?"

"Can I sleep up there with you?"

Satori cracks one eye open at the question, even though all there is to see is a bare wall. "Yes," he decides. "Yeah."


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> queers being queer, best friends being best friends

Satori blinks slowly, but he's positive that even with his eyes closed that the brown ones obscuring his vision would be burned into the back of his lids. The boy's gaze is sharp and almost uncomfortable- and speaking of uncomfortable, his legs are falling asleep- but on the other hand, leaning back into shared space like this, he's pleasantly warm.

He moves to tilt his head back farther, but the hand on his arm slides up to the base of his neck to stop him from pulling away.

"You look like a cat," Eita hums, bumping their noses together.

Satori arches a brow. "Do I?"

"Yeah." The boy pulls back a little, maybe to better inspect his features. "Your eyes get droopy when you're relaxed. Like a happy cat." He returns a moment later, leaning in this time to press their foreheads togetner. "You act like one, too. Crafty and kinda cold sometimes."

"Alright," Satori huffs past the warmth spreading across his cheeks, "now I'm having a hard time figuring out if this is a compliment."

"I like cats," Eita clarifies.

"Good, then." This time he leans forward, pressing a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. As usual, Eita flushes and then scowls as if in offense- then frowns and ducks his head until his face is tucked into the crook of his neck. Quietly amused, Satori tilts his head back. "You know what I like?"

"What?" The boy mumbles, begrudgingly.

"Being able to feel my legs!"

"Ugh!" Eita groans as he presses closer. Once he's satisfied that he's smushed back into the seat, he picks his head back up and pulls back with a pinched expression. "I like you. Bastard."

"Well you don't gotta say it like that," Satori pouts. "I like you too, you know."

While lilting his head, Eita purses his lips. "I don't say it enough," he says. "Or show it."

"Eita," he huffs, lightly tapping against the seat's arm rests. One part bemused and another concerned, he says, "You climbed into my lap."

"Yeah," the boy agrees. "Satori?"

"Yeeesss?" he drawls.

Eita sighs once, heavily. Barely a moment later, he's lifting his face toward the ceiling and then toward the window with a grimace. Satori brings his hands up to cup his face and guide it over, smiling lightly at the deadpan expression.

"You're my boyfriend, right?"

"Oh." That hasn't been what he was expecting- if he was expecting anything at all, that is, which he really wasn't-

Eita scrunches his nose. "Oh?" He says. "What's-"

"Oh like, ' _Well, yeah,_ '" he huffs. "Oh like, ' _That's a dumb question._ ' You're in my lap, Eita. I literally can't feel my legs-"

"Oh my God-"

"But I haven't pushed you off, have I? Because I like you and you like me and we're together, _duh_ -"

"Satori-"

"We use each other's first names!"

"It's not like we've really talked about it," Eita argues, reasonably.

"But we do boyfr- we do couple things," he retorts, brows furrowed. "We hold hands under-"

"Why'd you do that?" Eita interrupts with a frown. "Why'd you change it?"

"What?" He asks.

"You said couple-"

"So?"

"Why not- Why not the other thing?"

"Beacuse," Satori says, like it's obvious. "You don't like it."

Eita scowls. "Who said that?"

"You did!" He argues. "Say it!"

"Say wh-"

"Boyfriends!" he says with a huff. 

The boy sneers, followed by a wrinkle of his nose. "Boy-"

"Stop," Satori hushes, lurching forward to kiss him quiet. "You don't like it-" he says. "I know you don't like it. You look upset."

Surprised, Eita pitches backwards- and like usual, Satori's limbs are moving before he bothers to tell them to. Within a beat, his arms are snaked around the boy's waist and pulling him back toward him.

"I don't know what you mean," Eita huffs, once he's recovered. "I never said that."

"I know. You just look uncomfortable. I mean- it's just a guess. You never said I was wrong, though."

"So what, then? I'm-"

"My partner?" Satori offers. "My sig-nifi-cant other," he draws out, playfully. "Whatever you want. Just don't force it out, it makes it sound like it's not something you want."

Almost predictably, the boy frowns. "You can't actually read minds, can you?"

"No?"

"I know," he sighs. "I just- I dunno. I wish you could? Or anyone could. Because- I don't know. I mean I do, I just- I'm confused."

"That... doesn't make much sense." With a quiet huff, Satori shifts himself so that his hands brace Eita's thighs while his heels dig into the floor. "Guessing is- You should be able to tell me yourself, I mean."

"If you try to pick me up right now, we're both going to fall." Eita gives him a flat look, swatting lazily at his bicep.

"I can do it," he argues past a small frown.

The boy snorts. "You're tiny-"

"I'm _taller_ than you-"

"You've got less than half of Ushijima's mass on those things-"

"I-" Satori snaps his mouth shut. Privately, he can admit that Eita isn't wrong- he's not tiny but he is pretty thin compared to their team's majority. Outwardly, he continues to glare. "I work out just as much as the rest of us!"

"Well-" Eita squeezes his bicep, somehow both appraising and condescendingly as he raises a brow. "Sure," he concedes. "But you also complain the whole time, and eat like a bird, so-"

Satori squints. "I'm not a pity date, am I?"

Gaping, Eita leans back. "What? Are you insane?"

"Maybe," he says, evenly and eyes narrowed. "You know-"

"You're just an idiot," the other bites. " _Pity date!_ " Much to his dismay, he follows up and punctuates his distaste by punching his shoulder. "Stop talking down on yourself!"

"Stop beating me up!" Satori yelps. "It was an honest question!"

"It was a stupid question!"

"Ugh!"

"Ugh!"

" _Ugh!_ " He echoes. With a blatant pout, he leans forward- but there's really nowhere to go without knocking them both out of the chair, so instead he secures his hold on Eita's thighs and hoists them both up and out of it.

Once he's satisfied that they aren't about to immediately pitch over, he nudges the chair back and makes for their bunk. Eita keeps quiet, either impressed by the display of strength or terrified beyond belief at the thought of being dropped a few feet, and clings to him like a koala until he's set down.

"Are you not going to bed?" The other asks, finally.

"No-" Satori wrinkles his nose. "I mean yeah, just- My legs are half asleep."

"Stop calling me fat!"

" _What?!_ I didn't!"

* * *

Satori pitches his head back onto the lawn, grass rolling between his pinched fingers and coat bunching beneath his chin.

"You are certain that you are not cold?"

He chuckles. His breath passes his lips in puffs of vapor, punctuating his amusement even as he turns his head with a grin.

"I'm a little cold," he admits. "Not badly. What about you?"

Wakatoshi isn't laying with him; he's sitting in the damp grass by his head, with his arms secure around the knees tucked into his chest.

"I am warm enough," he says. As if to prove this, he flexes his hands. "I am wearing gloves, unlike yourself."

"I do have pockets, Wakatoshi-kun."

"You do not use them."

Satori huffs. "Fair enough."

"Tell me if you get colder, we will go back inside." Wakatoshi drops his chin onto his knees. "I will buy you hot chocolate."

"You don't-"

"It is incentive for you to be honest," he interrupts. "Otherwise we will sit here until you are shivering, and I will have to carry you inside."

"We are going to call over break," he says, flicking the grass between his fingers away so that he can prod him in the side. "Right?"

Wakatoshi doesn't even twitch, much less look at him.

"Yes."

"You want to?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Yes," he says again.

"Okay." Satori sniffs. "Could you actually?"

"Hm?"

"You think you could carry me?"

This time Wakatoshi huffs; a breath of amusement that lingers in the air just before him for a beat. Satori raises a brow at the lilt of his mouth that follows.

"Yeah," he says, gaze dipping toward him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sad to say i am american  
> the election is fraying every cell in my body


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> break springs on satori- funny how time slips by like a river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys; i like this story
> 
> me; nice, let's get spicy- but not in the way u want

Returning home is no big affair. While his mother pulls him into a warm hug- and he marvels not for the first time at how tiny she is- not much is spoken between them. He doesn't bring up the missed phone calls and she doesn't bring up his mistake ( although it doesn't feel much at all like a mistake ). It's not like he was expecting anything big; maybe a little more enthusiasm. Except that's kinda selfish, and he wouldn't be much enthused to see himself either, so really he shouldn't complain at all.

With a sigh, he props an elbow on the door and his chin in his hand and makes a vague attempt to focus on the buildings they pass.

"I have something to show you when we get home."

"Eh?"

"You'll like it!" His mother says. He pivots to look at her, dark hair piled haphazardly atop her head and the cut of a smile stretching across her face.

He wrinkles his nose, not so sure himself, and fishes his phone from his hoodie pocket.

_**semisemi** \- 12:48am_

Have fun! Keep in touch! Maybe we'll be able to see each other soon

"What are you looking at?"

"A message from a friend."

"A friend?"

"My roommate."

Saying goodbye hadn't been a terrible affair- mostly because they knew for certain that it was a temporary one. Eita had kissed him goodbye, gotten as far as the doorknob and then turned back to crush him into a hug. That isn't to say he didn't already miss it- or miss Eita; the moment he'd folded into his mother's arms it was like a stone of some sort fell into his stomach. As soon as he settled in the car, he felt the urge to clamber back out and slip back into his bunk.

The house is red. As in _red_.

Not the outside- the outside is the same chipped, boring beige its always been. It's inside. The kitchen, the dining room, the living room, inside the cabinets, inside the hall closet. It's-

"It matches!" She coos, guiding him from the bathroom and pinching his cheeks. In all honesty- well, he's no interior designer, but he isn't sure that everything is supposed to be one color. "Isn't it lovely?"

"Yeah," he says, utterly bewildered. "Yes. You- You did this all by yourself?"

"Yes!"

"Impressive!" He manages, because it's about the only honest thing he can think to say. In reality- well, he doesn't know where to begin. The color of the walls might pool at his feet and seep into his very bones; in actuality it might already be there, curled up and nestled in his veins. It's a color that reminds Wakatoshi of holly and, as he'd confessed, autumn leaves- and one he hasn't been able to escape since ever. While it makes the rooms feel larger, it also makes it darker- and colder, and-

Suffice to say, it isn't quite to his taste.

She lets go, eyes bright and grin wide. The expression doesn't so much as twitch even as he rubs his face. "Isn't it?" She says.

"It is," Satori tells her. "It's great."

It does match- his hair, the roses alongside their house, his father's grainy wake portrait, her coat- and it really sort of is impressive, for a woman of her and height especially ( but he wouldn't be one to put it past her, or doubt her abilities ). He takes after her, in that way, to stubbornly shove through any whimsical projects he dregs up just because he wants to see if he really can.

"It took forever!" With a look he can't quite decipher, his mother takes him by the hand and pulls him toward and then past his bedroom, sparing him only a moment to drop his bag just outside its door. "Most of my free time, anyway," she continues. "I did yours, too- we'll get to that later; and I put everything back, don't worry."

"Thank you," he blurts, but he turns his head to stare at his door as if he might be able to see through it.

Maybe she's over it. With something like this- on her own and on top of work no less, it's no wonder she hadn't called often.

"Satori-"

He turns back, slack in both posture and expression, twisting the fingers of one hand into his hoodie. His mother squeezes the other.

From the edges of his vision, his mother beams up at him like the sun. She squeezes his hand again and asks, "What do you think?"

It looks like a dungeon.

"It's nice!"

The curtains are drawn tight- the room might've been pitch black if not for the lights, well, _everywhere_. Satori worms his hand free of his mother's grip and steps farther into her bedroom, reaching up to lightly poke one of them.

"Are these-"

"Christmas lights!" She confirms with great enthusiasm. _Everywhere_. Crisscrossed and overlapping each other, spider webbing the entire expanse of ceiling- _this_ , he thinks, _is definitely a fire hazard._

"Why are they all red?"

"Ah," his mother sighs, woefully. "You'd think a store around here would have a proper set of red ones, right? But all they had was assorted- so I bought a lot and strung them together myself. That's what you call thinking outside the box."

"You-"

In front of him now, cutting him off, her hands slip up to cup his face and guide him lower.

"You've grown," she says, clearly amused and drawing up on her toes to press a kiss to his brow.

"Have I?"

He must have, it does sort of feel like he's bent farther than he ought to be.

He hums. "Maybe you've shrunk."

Sticking out her tongue childishly, his mother pulls back. "I have not," she maintains, then turning her nose to the air. "You're turning into a giant, is all. We'll need an entire new house, soon."

"It's alright," he says, straightening some. "I'll just crouch."

"Sure," the woman retorts. "You'd complain the whole time, to top it off."

"I-"

She waves a hand and turns, cutting him off. "I should've asked on the way home- do you want to order in?"

"Well-"

"I think we should," she continues as she hurries through the door. "Just like before, hm? Grab the blankets, I'll go order."

_**satoriii** \- 2:43pm_

my mother repainted

_**toshi-kun** \- 3:17pm_

Repainted what?

_**satoriii** \- 3:23pm_

everything

well- all the walls

of every room 

_**toshi-kun** \- 3:25pm_

What colors?

_**satoriii** \- 3:27pm_

red

_**toshi-kun** \- 3:32pm_

Just red?

_**satoriii** \- 3:33pm_

yeah

toshi-kun - 3:36pm

Interesting.

_**satoriii** \- 3:39pm_

it is, isn't it?

"It's hot in here," Satori comments, tilting his head back.

His mother hums, running a hand absently through his hair and taking a drag of her cigarette with the other. Maybe it's some pseudo effect from the lights. He lifts a hand in front of his face, considering his newly vermilion complexion.

She tilts her head toward his, propped in her lap within their bizarre nest of mismatched blankets and pillows, eyes half lidded ( just about the only thing he got from her ) as she puffs a cloud of smoke in his face. Distraught, and also partially choking, he smothers the lower half of his face and coughs into his sleeve.

"Take off your sweatshirt, baby," she says. "Get comfortable. I'll give you one."

He sighs. "I don't want one."

"Yes you do." Her hand combs through his locks once more.

"They smell gross," he complains.

"You get used to it."

"Gross."

"They work miracles."

"No they don't."

"Fine," she huffs. "Don't believe me."

"I'm going to smell like smoke for weeks."

Her finger twirls a lock of his hair as she leans back to smother her cigarette on the dish beside the bed. Once she resumes her position she throws him a soft smile.

"Take off your sweatshirt," she prompts again. "Tell me about your friend."

He does as he's told- moreso because the dampness of his skin has made it awfully apparent that it really is just too hot. The spared layer is, frankly, a relief. He falls back into her lap with a quiet sigh.

"My friend?"

"The one from the car," she clarifies, tapping a finger to her chin thoughtfully. "What were you talking about?"

"Nothing," he says, honestly. "His name is Semi Eita. He was wishing me a good vacation. Ah- We were also wondering if maybe, y'know, we could meet up sometime."

Her smile wavers. "Is that a good idea?"

"I-" Resisting the urge to frown, Satori lowers his gaze and picks at his nails. "You don't think so?"

"It's nice that you're making friends," she says, bringing her hand back into his hair. "But is he really your friend?"

"What?" He drops his hands back to his stomach, brows furrowing.

Her smile is apologetic as she bows her head. "You know how kids are, Satori," she says. "Cruel. Maybe he was just being nice; sometimes they pretend- ah, but, maybe he's different. I don't know. Just be careful."

"Okay," he frowns.

"Oh, don't look like that," she chides. In a passing moment, her smile takes up a sharper quality- it's all rather disconcerting in this light, he thinks. But maybe that's all it is. The light. "I know how it is. Everyone is so disappointing- that's why I'm here. I'm keeping you safe, so you don't have to be disappointed. So you don't have to hurt."

"But-"

"He's different, I know." Her nails drag gently across his scalp. "I know. I'm just looking out for you, because I care about you. That's what a good mother does- I'm a good mother, aren't I?"

Satori blinks up at her. "Yeah," he manages, not quite able to keep up.

"You sure you don't want a smoke, baby?"

"I'm sure," he says with a grimace. "They're..." He sighs. "No. Not- not now."

"Okay," she hums, contentedly. "I love you."

Satori turns onto his side- a bit of an awkward position in their little hovel; he's definitely getting too big- and presses his cheek to her stomach as she pats his hair.

"I love you too," he says.

She smiles down at him again, something a little softer, and says, "Good."


	21. Chapter 21

Satori sits on the edge of his bed, contemplating how and why things have come together the way they are now, basked with the oddly warm lighting of his- thankfully, _with_ it's original lightbulb- desk lamp. Not that things are bad, per se- it could certainly be worse.

In fact, he can't exactly pinpoint any one thing that's upsetting him- which really just upsets him more, if he's being honest with himself. The blanket beneath him is much softer than the one back at his dorm, but the bed itself is much colder. Maybe he just misses Eita.

He frowns and looks off at his cellphone, charging beside the aforementioned lamp, and then back down at his lap. With a huff, he brings his hands together to fiddle with the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

There are a lot of things he could do, but not a lot that he wants to. Really, he doesn't want to do anything- and normally that would entail taking a nap, but he doesn't want to do that either. He also knows he isn't hungry. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he isn't even really upset, he's just-

"Sort of empty," he huffs to himself. Then, "Maybe I really do miss Eita."

Or he should, anyway. Is deciding he does the same thing, or close to it?

Maybe it's the decor. She really had gone to town with the paint.

Lifting a hand almost absentmindedly, he runs his fingers through the front of his hair and catches it by the ends. It's long enough now that he can see it fine.

It's a little disconcerting to have walls the same color as your hair. Or your father's hair, to be more precise. The obsession had to come from somewhere- and while Satori hadn't known his father he also didn't think that he was all that remarkable himself. Weird as it sounds, he thinks it's a little more plausible to want to surround yourself with reminders or someone dear to you. He counts himself lucky that the man's hair wasn't, like- bright orange, or something.

He blinks, feeling distracted- not that there was anything to distract himself from in the first place- and falls backward onto the mattress.

Then he opens his eyes, not too sure when he closed them, and turns his head. His phone is lit up on his desk, vibrating quietly. Probably Semi. Maybe Wakatoshi. Part of him wants to get up to check. Most of him, decided rather suddenly and all at once, is tired. When he lifts his hand to push his hair back, he's alarmed to pull it back wet. Now that he's started, though, he isn't too sure he can stop.

Humorlessly, he chuckles- but it sounds more choked than anything, and toward the end breaks into more of a sob, so he clasps a hand over his mouth and wrenches himself upright and over.

* * *

"What's wrong with you?" His mother asks the next morning. "You look like... well... terrible."

He swallows whatever piece of fruit he was chewing on and refrains from wrinkling his nose.

"Didn't get much sleep last night," he offers.

"How's your friend?" She asks. "The, uh... Your roommate."

"Semi?" He questions. "Semi's- I dunno. Fine, probably. Haven't talked. Haven't checked my phone since yesterday."

"Oh." Her brows furrow. She reaches over his shoulder to grab a grape from his plate and pop it in her mouth. He leans forward as best he can, out of her way. "You've more than one?"

"Uhm. Friends? Yeah. A handful."

"Alright."

"Okay." He nods a little. "I wanted to ask- I mean, not so soon, obviously. But- I mean, if I could? I was thinking I could hang out with a few?"

His mother straightens some. Even though he's not looking at her, he can practically feel the grip on his chair.

"A few?"

He nods again. "Uh- really, just- Semi. Maybe Ushijima, if- well, if it's okay. And if he wants to."

"Ushijima," she hums. "Sounds important. Old name."

"Yeah, he's very-"

"Stick up the ass?"

He snorts. "I was going to say polite. He's a little... sheltered, I guess. Straightforward guy."

"Alright."

"Alright?"

"I'll think about it," she offers. "I'm not so sure about this Semi kid-"

"Why?" He tilts his head back, but she only shrugs at him.

"Call it a mother's intuition."

"Semi's nice," he finds himself arguing. "Really nice. Gets good grades and everything, too- we help each other study, and-"

"I'll think about it," she says again as she pulls back.

He snaps his mouth shut.

"Satori?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't interrupt me." She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and turns her gaze to the side. "It hurts my feeligs."

"Oh." He swallows and furrows his brows, turning back to his plate. All of a sudden, he doesn't feel like eating anymore. "I'm sorry."

"I know," she sighs.

His chest feels oddly heavy as he pulls himself up from his seat.

* * *

Some nights later, at the edge of nowhere with the sun creeping somewhere past him, Satori turns. He hopes that wherever it's rising, someone has the decency to appreciate its warmth. His face is wet; droplets trail down it in rivulets, his hair sticks to his forehead. The rain is coming down hard enough to soak through his sweater, and the cotton of the shirt underneath is plastered to his wiry frame. It's cold. He bows his head and reaches up wipe excess water from his eyes as he trudges onward.

The rain stops. He shivers. Pauses.

Correction; the rain hasn't stopped, it's just not reaching him. Stilling completely, he blinks at his reflection in the puddle at his feet, and the one beside it.

"Hello."

"Hi," he huffs. His breath puffs from his lips like a feathering cloud. "Fancy seeing you here."

It really isn't all that surprising, but he finds himself contemplating whether to pinch himself or not anyway. Wakatoshi's reflection isn't stark enough that he can catch wherever the boy's gaze is lingering, but he watches him shift just a smidge closer. "No umbrella," he notes.

"It's, uh." Satori shrugs. "Broken."

"Alright."

"Yeah?"

"Walk with me."

Satori lifts his head now, brows furrowed. The boy's expression doesn't change. "Where? Can't, anyway- I'm headed to the post." He pats the bag on his hip.

"You'll get sick," Wakatoshi says. "I'll walk you, then you can walk with me."

"Why?"

"You'll get sick," he repeats.

"Still probably gonna get sick. What are you doing out, anyway?"

"Probably," the boy acquiesces with a frown. He holds the umbrella out. "Take this."

Satori does so, careful to make sure it's covering them both properly, and watches in bizarre fascination as Wakatoshi takes the collar of his jacket between his teeth and shucks the zipper fluidly with one hand. He wonders if it's a lefty thing. Or if Wakatoshi just has some weird habits; maybe it's something he practiced in the mirror to impress some girls ( he can't really see that one, though- not really ).

Wakatoshi finishes tugging the garment off relatively quickly and reaches to take his umbrella back again. Satori wordlessly hands it off.

The boy inclines his head. "Your sweater."

"Haa?"

"Your sweater," he repeats. "Take it off."

He scrunches his nose at the thought, hesitating. "Undressing me in the street, eh? What a dog."

"Satori."

"Ugh," he huffs, eloquently. "Fine."

It's gross. It's cold. The fabric holds enough water to squelch and leave damp trails along his skin- not that it wasn't damp before. He frowns as he catches sight of his bare arms. Frowns more as he squeezes the heavy fabric out. It disrupts their reflections in the puddle at their feet.

Wordlessly, Wakatoshi drapes his jacket across his shoulders. Satori wants to argue, tell him that if he's going to get sick anyway he might as well just keep it, but even as he shivers the lingering warmth seeps into his skin. He wrings out his sweatshirt one more time before slipping his arms into the jacket and quickly zipping it up. He guesses he's always been kinda selfish.

"You live close?" He asks.

"Yeah."

"Cool. How's break treating you?"

"It's boring," Wakatoshi deadpans. "The rain is bothersome."

Satori snorts, then reaches over to nudge them onward. "Cutting into your practice time?"

"Yes."

"Sorry to hear it." He chances a glance, but the other is facing resolutely forward. "You practicing on your own?"

"Yes."

"I probably should, too, huh?"

The olive-haired boy inclines his head. "You should," he says. "Your endurance-"

"Needs work," he finishes, dropping his eyes. "I know. So does my blocking."

"And recieves."

"Gee, thanks."

"I stand to improve as well," Wakatoshi states.

"Well I think you're really good already," he counters. "Coach thinks-"

"I don't just want to be good," the boy interrupts. "So I'll be better."

Satori lifts his gaze from his hands ( which were almost covered down to their tips; despite being about the same height, Wakatoshi is generously filled out for his age and the evidence was in the folds of this jacket ) and is surprised to find the other still watching him. He folds his arms over his chest and looks forward, belatedly murmuring something about his goals being excessively admirable.

In the shop windows they pass, Satori can see Wakatoshi's huff of a laugh pass his lips and disperse with little fanfare; the only evidence left is the barest lilt of his mouth.

* * *

The post is only just barely warmer than it is outside. He crouches beside his bag and flips it open, listening to his friend tap his umbrella once, twice- four times- shake it out, and then tap it twice more before he's satisfied enough to bring it in and rest it in the rack.

Satori's careful with the envelopes. They're about the size of a standard sheet of paper, excessively covered in a plethora of red stamps and stickers and quickly scrawled doodles, and there is a lot of them. If they're going to be bent or creased at all, it won't be by his hand. This one, along with some others, are headed abroad. He can see the little U.S.A. on the label- both him and his mother have a personal penchant against the American postal system; this is, for the most part, a calculated risk.

His companion watches quietly somewhere over his shoulder- Satori's sure he won't ask, even though he's definitely curious- but only for a moment. Then he crouches beside him and reaches over, carefully, to speed up the process. Satori even pauses to watch him carefully smooth over the edge of a cheap sticker that started to peel up. It'll probably be lost along the way.

"My mother's an artist," he explains. "Freelance."

"I see."

"I'll show you sometime."

Wakatoshi blinks at him, turns another envelope over. "Okay," he says. "I would like that."

"Cool."

* * *

"Damn," he huffs, wide eyed.

"Hm?"

"This is your place? It's huge." He shoves his hands under his armpits as he surveys it, feeling kinda like one of those food critics but for houses. It's definitely big- a lot bigger than his own two bedroom, one bathroom thing- but not too big. Modestly big. "I like it."

"Looks better without the dreary backdrop," Wakatoshi tells him, urging him through the front gate. "Better inside."

"Where do you practice?"

"In back," he says. Satori takes his cue to toe off his shoes in the entryway and get a feel for what he can see of the place, wide-eyed. "With the net."

"You have your own net? Man." He huffs. "Well, not like I could've blocked for myself anyway I guess. Your parents home?"

"No."

Satori raises a brow. "Will they be?"

"Not tonight."

"Okay," he says, reigning in his curiosity. "I should call my mother, though. She might not be happy I'm here, honestly."

Wakatoshi nods once, then loops a finger into the jacket sleeve still swallowing him whole, and pulls him farther inside. "If she asks you home," he says, "I'll take you back. For now, you'll change. I'll dry your things."

Satori wrinkles his nose, feeling somewhat like a dog being led on a leash. "I'm not letting you walk me all the way back. What if you get sick, too? You don't have to go all out."

"I know," he says. And then, "I won't get sick."

* * *

He might be having a crisis of sorts. Sitting in Wakatoshi's bathroom. Wearing his sweatpants, and one of his sweatshirts- and it's a travesty, really, because both are way too big.

"You're at a friend's house," his mother titters through the static, presumably with a frown.

"Well- I got caught in the rain. Like, bad. Soaked to the bone bad-" she hums, so he rubs at his chin and continues. "He was walking by. I still dropped everything off first, though, so-"

"Semi's house?"

"Uh. No. Ushijima's, actua-"

"Oh, okay."

"Haa?"

"S'fine."

Maybe he really is crazy. "Mom- you've never met Ushijima."

He can picture her nodding. "Are you coming home later, or staying over?"

"Um." Wrinkling his nose, he looks down at his hands. "I dunno. Play it by ear? My stuff is in the dryer. It's still nasty out- I don't want to impose though."

"Alright."

"Uh-"

"You can just text me."

"Okay."

"Alright!" She hums, brightly. "Love you!"

"Love you too."

Baffled, Satori huffs. The line clicks dead before he can pull the phone from his ear.

* * *

"It went well?" Wakatoshi muses, furrowing his brows.

Satori blinks and then reaches up to lightly jab the space between them, and says, "Yeah. I guess so. We're cool."

**Author's Note:**

> penny for your thoughts?
> 
> rhinestone eyes - gorillaz


End file.
